Purple Days CrossPosted
by afyansnwkhn
Summary: Joffrey is stuck in a time loop like Ground Hog day. I am not the author of this story, all credit goes to Baurus. I am only putting this story onto ff.net. Again, I have nothing to do with this story, nothing. Absolutely, nothing.
1. CHAPTER 1

**CHAPTER 1****A CONFUSED HOUND**

Sandor "the hound" Clegane had the shittiest job in Kings Landing if you asked him. Watching the arrogant little shit tormenting his little brothers, acting like he was already the godsdamned king already and mewling back to his mother at the first sign of trouble. Not that he really minded, it was more of an annoyance for him. After all, his prospects serving the Lannisters were good, the killing was good, and one day the little shit would be King.

And, it wasn't as if this job didn't have its benefits. As Prince Joffrey's Sworn Shield, it was his duty to follow him everywhere, which had let him enjoy the sight of the little shit being chastised and punished for acting like an idiot. It had been yesterday, 3 days after Jon Arryn's death. Joffrey had refused to go to the North, shouting something about "Not wanting to even touch the northern savages", and things had only degenerated from there. Robert had been ready to strike the Prince, but a warning glare from Cercei had stopped him, instead throwing his cup of wine angrily to the floor and ordering Sandor to take Joffrey back to his room without supper. And so he had grabbed the little shit and dragged him back to his room, kicking and screaming at the "Injustice".

Maybe the prospect of him being King one day was not a good idea after all…

Sandor was about to continue with his internal ramblings, basking in the morning sunlight from the nearby window when a sudden, muffled scream reached him through the door… from prince Joffreys room. He was probably screaming in rage at someone or something yet again… though it was rare for him to do it in the morning… Sandor didn't even doubt for a moment his course of action, he was no Knight, no Lord, but he did still take his duty seriously.

He busted into the room, drawing his sword and looking for assassins when he spotted Joffrey on the floor, breathing heavily, clutching his throat while he vomited bile over the floor.

Must be poison, thought the hound, though it was strange, the prince had not eaten anything last night, and he had seen no servants going through the door. He quickly sheathed his sword as he helped Joffrey up, ready to take him to a Maester.

In retrospect, it was then when things really stopped making sense to the Hound.

"I'm okay Sandor, I'm okay" he said as he sat on his bed, taking deep breaths. The prince's face was filled with despair, anger, sadness, loss and self-loathing all in quick succession. He grabbed his head, and took one last deep breath. "You'd think I would get used to this by now… but it never gets any better" He snorted. "Not that I don't deserve it…"

The Hound's stared at him, confused. He never calls me Sandor, he thought. Whatever indigestion had the Prince in this state, he didn't want to touch it with a ten foot pole. Joffrey finally snapped out of his trance, letting his hands fall to his lap. "Clegane" He said as he nodded to him, "We've got work to do."

With that said, he quickly stepped to his wardrobe, impatiently searching between all the fine robes and princely attires, finally getting out what he wanted. It was a set of riding leathers, hardy and confortable, but without any of the jewels and lions the Prince always favored. Without even calling for his servants as was his want, he quickly dressed himself, and strolled outside, only barely pausing by his bed chest and taking his dagger. He doesn't even know how to use the godsdamned thing, thought the hound. Oblivious of his thoughts, Joffrey strapped the leather belt and sheath to his waist, quick as lightning and with no conscious thought, like a veteran.

"Come on Hound" he said, with none of the usual viscous pettiness he so constantly used when referring to lesser people (which in his mind was all of them but his mother) as he walked out into the hallway.

Suddenly left alone in the little shits room, Sandor quickly snapped out of his befuddlement and raced out, taking his place to Joffreys South-East. Watching the Prince was like watching another boy… no, another man. He walked erect, with a confident stride that spoke of victory, but also of the struggle and loss that accompanied it… It was no longer the arrogant strutting. Sandor didn't know how to put it exactly, but, in a word, the Prince had overnight, somehow become a man.

He strode briskly, like a man with a mission, briefly acknowledging the servants as he passed by them, full of trays of food or bundles of fresh clothes. Trays of food and bundles of clothes that barely managed not to hit the floor in a scandalous manner when the prince actually addressed the servants.

"Arrel, Darrik" Said Joffrey, giving the befuddled servants carrying a large bucket of water a nod and a small smile, he didn't even notice their confusion as he strode on, mind driven by some bizarre and obscure objective.

Strange Joffrey, as Sandor was calling him in his head, had a plan. That much the Hound knew. He briefly stopped at intersections of hallways in the Red Keep, looking at each hallway, thinking as if trying to remember something, then continuing on. "Darrin" He muttered distantly as he acknowledged the queens chamber boy, deep in thought at yet another intersection. The Hound quickly reached out and prevented the chamber boy from falling over from the shock and more than a little fear. Usually, when the prince acknowledged your existence it was not a good omen. That, the smallfolk servants of the red keep had agreed unanimously years ago.

Yet again, Joffrey didn't even seem to notice that anything regarding his actions was supremely uncommon, and Sandor didn't think this was all part of a deliberate cruel joke… the little shit didn't have the patience for it.

After a minute standing in the hallway, way longer than at the other intersections, Joffrey finally decided and headed West. "This one, I think" he muttered. What he found however, was clearly not part of "The Plan" (It had acquired Capital Letters in Sandors head after the fourth hallway.)

In front of Joffrey, was Princess Myrcella, eying him with a deep wariness and suspicion arising from years of torment. Joffrey didn't seem to notice though; he seemed to be shaking slightly. "Myrcella" he whispered, a strangled, sad sound that Sandor didn't think she heard. What happened next shocked the Hound again, even more so than all the other strange things happening today. Joffrey stepped forward and actually hugged Myrcella, clinging to her like a drowning sailor hugs some flotsam. Now, Sandor was no expert in family relations, he admitted that much to himself, but Joffrey seemed genuinely shaken and happy, maybe even joyful to see her. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" He said, his mumbling muffled by his sisters hair.

Myrcella however, didn't have Sandor's iron proof façade. She was pale and shacken, white as pigeon drops and stiff as a board. She was probably expecting the other shoe to drop now, so to speak. Joffrey at last seemed to realize what was going on, and haltingly, almost against his will, separated from her. He looked at her face, then looked back towards Sandor, and slowly shook his head, as if to clear it. "My pardon Sister, I confused you with someone else" he said, trying and failing to sound cruel and disdainful, pulling a sad facsimile of his usual cruel and arrogant smirk.

It didn't fool Sandor, and it seemed neither did Myrcella. For Sandor that weak acting only served to permanently seal the idea in his head that SOMETHING was definitely WRONG. He had to fight the urge to draw his sword, his danger sense screaming at him at the sheer uncanniness of it all.

The thing that stopped him for now was the Prince's eyes, full of loss and self-loathing. He quickly continued on down the hallway, frequently wiping his eyes with his sleeve. Sandor could see they were wet.

"We took a wrong turn Clegane, it was to the right" He said, more to himself than to the Hound as they reached another intersection and turned right this time. Sandor just followed him, mute and with his sword hand in the pommel. They finally stopped right besides the next intersection. Here, Joffrey peeked down the hallway, only to quickly retract his head and take a deep breath. It looked like he was psyching himself up for something. Finally, after about 4 minutes of this, he finally looked at the hound and looked at him in the eyes, "Clegane, whatever I say, don't do or say anything, understood?" He said it with such a force of will, as if he expected no other answer, that dumbly nodding was the only thing the Hound could do. "This is a terrifying glimpse of the king he could be" The hound thought to himself.

Then, Joffrey let out a long sight, and breathed for a final time. He then took off to the hallway, arrogantly strutting through it. Sandor followed him as he desperately tried to remember where they were on the Red Keep after all the turns. Almost as they reached the corner, Joffrey bumped with Lord Baelish. "Watch where you're going!!" he screeched, and then stopped when he saw who he was talking to. "Ah! Lord Baelish, I was looking for my uncle Renly but maybe I can trust you too" Joffrey said as he looked up at Baelish.

Baelish looked at Joffrey, a benevolent and curious smile adorning his face. "Trust me with what, my Prince?" he asked. "Arresting Varys of course! I want the traitorous bastard in the black cells now, he poisoned Lord Arryn!" he told him with his distinctly annoying twang, or at least tried too. It was a decent performance at non strange Joffrey, but he could see his heart was not in it. He gave the acting 6 out of 10.

Lord Baelish looked frozen for a brief moment, then he recovered and unleashed his signature smile. "Ah, an interesting theory my Prince, but we can't move against the Master of Whispers without evidence to back up your claim."

Joffrey looked between annoyed and doubtful, and he seemed to think for a bit before he said "I will trust you with this Baelish, but don't you dare betray me with this or I will have you executed." He said it not as a threat, but as a fact. He had started with the bluster but had naturally, towards the end become a simple statement of intent, something that apparently Joffrey didn't want as Baelish was suddenly looking a bit doubtful with this whole endeavor, inspecting Joffrey more seriously this time.

Strange Joffrey seemed to sense that Baelish was doubting his act with this faux pass, and quickly added "I have the evidence, and if you help me my Grandfather will shower you with gold" he said, reinforcing it with his nasal twang. It had looked a little forced, he didn't know if Baelish would buy it.

The naïve statement didn't seem to affect Lord Balish's chain of thought, though it did serve to relax him somewhat to the boy. "He's acting you idiot, he's planning something" The hound thought to himself, but didn't say anything. Baelish seemed to be struggling with himself, thinking about the possibilities and the outcomes and looking shrewdly at the Prince. Joffrey on the other hand looked totally like his usual self, looking back at the Mockingbird with a disdainful expression and a mounting incredulity that he wouldn't be obeyed.

Finally, it seemed the chance was too good for whatever schemes Baelish had planning, and finally nodded. "Can you show me the evidence? If its good we can get rid of Varys… permanently" Said Baelish, struggling to contain a predatory grin at the sudden opportunity.

Joffrey only seemed to think about it for a second before he nodded. "Where?" he simply asked. "I have a place where even Vary's Little Birds won't see us… there's a passage below the Royal library, past the cupboard that gives way to the red keep's southern cliff, we can meet there."

"Then do so" The Prince mewed more than commanded as he turned around and continued strutting down the hallway, Sandor in tow. He was liking this less and less…

It was a brief journey to the Library, where Joffrey seemed to take a random, blank scroll from Grand Maester Pycell unoccupied study. He rolled it up and proceeded all the way down towards a hidden passage below the library, just as Baelish had predicted. Strange Joffrey hadn't uttered a word to Clegane as he walked down the humid cave, towards the sound of the sea. He could already see the distant waves crashing downwards in a swirling vortex of fury. It was a long way down.

There, finally, he turned around to face Sandor. "Clegane, stay in the shadows and watch that Baelish doesn't bring any men. Unless he does, do nothing." He commanded. He mutely nodded again, despite his gut telling him to just get out of this.

So, as Sandor settled himself on the side of the cave, beneath its great shadows, Joffrey stood at the cliffs edge, watching the waves. When he heard footseps down the path, Joffrey turned around and sneered. "Baelish, what took you so long!" he mewled.

Lord Baelish smoothly reached him, offering his all-knowing smirk again. "I came as fast as I could after verifying the Eunuch's whereabaouts, my prince. It seems he has not fled the Red Keep yet" he told him. "Good" Said Joffrey as he gave him the blank scroll "Here's your evidence".

Baelish took another step forward so that he could read it with the light of the day that filtered through the cave's opening. He quickly lowered it however. "Whats --UGH" he grunted, as… Joffrey extracted the dagger he had stabbed in Lord Baelish's stomach. He barely had time to grunt again as a second after it had gone out, it came back in as Joffrey stabbed him again and again, each time with more fury and relish. "Fifty-fity Littlefucker, its always fifty fifty with you. Luckily, this time Fate has smiled upon me." He told him as he kept stabbing him in the gut again and again. Baelish seemed transfixed at what was happening. He opened his mouth to say something but found he couldn't. Hell, Sandor knew something shady was going to happen, but he hadn't been prepared for this. "You just can't seem to resist the temptation of your greatest rival in the game gone" Joffrey said as he cleaned his knife on Lord Baelish's thigh, who was now on his knees. "Goodby Petyr" Said Joffrey as he kicked him and sent him over the edge of the cliff, down towards the turbulent Narrow Sea.

Joffrey looked downward, making sure Baelish was dead, then, slowly, the fury and relish that had taken him as he stabbed Baelish time and again seemed to seep out of him. He looked at his hands, which weren't even trembling. He seemed to be eying them with a resigned disgust, and, Sandor suspected, a burst of self-loathing so hard he was surprised the Prince wasn't vomiting again.

He approached Sandor from the spot of the murder, sheathing his now clean dagger. "Its okay Clegane, he was the one who really poisoned Lord Arryn, or so involved in the plot it makes no difference. He was a wild dog--" he paused for a second "—no offence intended. And a danger to the Realm. We shall all be better for it" he said as he stepped ever closer to him.

Sandor kept his grip on the pommel. He couldn't care less about the "Littlefucker" as Strange Joffrey had called him. He was wary not because of his murder, but because it was now apparent that Joffrey was not the same person that had gone to sleep last night. And now, looking at his eyes, he thought the boy had aged a thousand years on his sleep.

If he was going to do anything about it, it would have to be now. He had just been witness to the murder of a Lord, and there was no telling what Strange Joffrey would do now. Sandor thought for a few moments, and Joffrey seemed content to let him.

Finally, he grunted. "You try any shite like that again without telling me first and I'll go straight to Robert, and screw all the gold in the Westerlands."

Joffrey seemed satisfied with that answer, and nodded as if he was expecting it. "Good, thank you Sandor." He said while he walked away, back towards the Red Keep.

The hound just shook his head. "Something tells me this is only the beginning".

\--PD—

Strange Joffrey had helped his servants stowing his stuff on board the chests and then on top the carriages. In truth Joffrey had done more to pack his stuff than the rest of the servants combined. They had been too shocked at the changed entity that was Joffrey, and had ended up packing less than a third themselves, which had of course made them even more scared in fear of retribution by the until last night cruel prince. Sandor wasn't surprised though, not after the shit he had seen inside that cave. Sandor had resigned himself from it all, and had decided to watch everything as if it was all an incredibly interesting and insane mummers show.

Strange Joffrey's reaction to the King and Queen were interesting. With the Queen there was no sight of his usual mewlings, and he seemed unresponsive to her spoiling him. He did smile at her and the affection behind his hug had been both simple and real, which had left Cercei slightly disconcerted. His reaction to the King however, was even more different from the usual. Before today, and for the last years, King Robert and his Son had barely spoken to each other, considering they were family. Now though, he found them idly chatting about different types of warhammers and how to use them, a subject Strange Joffrey seemed to know about a lot, to his Father's surprise. There was a distance however. Joffrey's smile didn't seem to reach his eyes, and he always looked a bit sad and disappointed after a small chat with Robert, which anyway were not quite so frequent.

The preparations took three more days before the whole caravan was finally ready to depart Kings Landing, and 3 more because of the search for Lord Baelish. In that time, Strange Joffrey acted (for his now changed personality) relatively normal. However, on the eve of the third day, Sandor had accompanied him to the Royal Armory.

The guards on duty had been surprised to see him there, as Joffrey generally didn't bother them besides coming in here once a year to mess with a crossbow. They were even more surprised when Joffrey saluted them like old friends, names and all. They quickly unlocked the door and one of them accompanied the prince toward the weapon racks. Sandor thought he would have stopped by the crossbows… he should have known better. He made a beeline for an arming sword that seemed to suit his height perfectly, and then took a well-crafted one handed axe, which he put on his belt. "You know how to use that thing?" Sandor asked, against his better judgment. Joffrey seemed to take it in good humour. "Want to test them out in the yard later?" he asked him with a knowing smile. Sandor could only nod and curse his big mouth.

Finally, Joffrey led him and the guard towards a door in the back of the room, were several odd knickknacks that didn't fit in the other categories were stowed. "I wouldn't worry with this one's m'prince, these haven't been catalogued by the Master-at-Arms since the Mad King." Said the guard, eying the rusted morning stars and a couple of weird, broken, curbed swords.

"Exactly, Theo. Imagine the treasures that could be buried in here!" Said Joffrey, amused as he dove right into the huge pile of junk. Sandor had the sinking suspicion the Prince knew exactly what was in that pile. After more than 10 minutes of searching, in which Joffrey repeatedly denied the guards offer to summon some servants to help with the task, he finally found what he was looking for.

It was 2 sets each of 6… throwing blades? Joffrey seemed happy, but not surprised to have found them, strapping the 2 sets to his riding leathers, one on his left side, and one on his right. "Did you know a Qohorik Merchant gifted this set to the Mad King, only for him to toss the poor sod into the black cells? Kings can be very fickle…" he said the last part mostly to himself, rubbing his face again before diving again in the pile of junk. Sandor would have asked him if he knew how to use the throwing knives, but then again had no intention in being a target for a "demonstration".

Then, to everyone's surprise, after 2 more minutes of searching, took out a Valyrian steel dagger. He promptly took its sheath and placed it on his belt, below his left throwing set and opposite to his axe. The arming sword he strapped it across his back.

Sandor would have expected the sight of Prince Joffrey armed to the teeth and spoiling for battle an amusing one. It was not. Joffrey walked back and forth, tensing his muscles, accommodating the whole set as if he knew what he was doing. Finally, he nodded to himself. "I'm good, let's go Clegane. Thank you Theo". He said, handing the guard a silver stag and promptly exiting the room.

The guard stared at Sandor, incredulous. "Don't ask me" he huffed, hurrying after his prince.

-PD-

Joffrey made good on his promise. They squared off in the training yard the next morning, clegane using a tourney sword instead of a training one to Joffreys insistence. He was armed with tourney arming sword.

At the Master-At-Arms signal they charged. Sandor initially went at it slow, not wanting to leave the prince a cripple and his head on a pike above Maegor's holdfast.

That had been a mistake. In two moves Joffrey had him at his feet. "Come on Clegane, I promise not to maim myself." He said, reading his thoughts. With a grunt and a huff, the hound was back up, and he was not going to hold off now. At the signal, they clashed again, and to Sandor's mounting disbelief, Joffrey was holding his own against him. He appeared to weave back and forth, attacking the joints in his armor with his arming sword, leaving painful bruises, attacking like lighting, not leaving room for Sandor to think. After withstanding the hurricane for hours, or it could have been minutes, the attacks started to come in slower as the prince's body simply wasn't used to this kind of punishment. Sandor was winning 5 bouts to 4, until the prince locked his blade with his in closed combat, jamming it with his own blade while he stomped hard on Cleganes feet. The entire maneuver took him by surprise, and his sword was snatched away from him, giving Strange Joffrey his victory. In the end it was a draw, 5 to 5.

Prince Joffrey was a mess of sweat, ample bruises and hard breathing, but had an uncharacteristic smile on his face. "Ah Sandor, you're always the best for getting back in shape" he gasped beteween breaths. One of his eyes was slowly growing smaller, pressed by the bruises around him, and he was bleeding from his sheen. Sandor cursed himself at the sight of blood.

Joffrey however could have cared less, in fact it seemed he hadn't even noticed it. He took a big gulp of water from his waterskin, "AAAAhhhh, A good fight Clegane, I really needed that." He told him. "I didn't know you were so good" Sandor huffed, himself tired after the intense beating. It was strange, there were several moments that Joffrey should have pressed his advantage to win several of the bouts he had eventually lost. That could easily be attributed to lack of skill to detect them, but Sandor had seen Joffreys eyes. They had been looking straight at the spot that would have guaranteed him a victory, but he hadn't taken them. Had he thrown some of the bouts? Why?

The mystery that was Strange Joffrey seemed to intensify by the day, and the next events only made it grew.

"JOFFREY!!" Screamed a female voice as a red figure dashed through the courtyard, and started calling for a Maester. It was Cercei.

Shit. I'm dead. Was the only thought that crossed through Sandors head when the Queen looked at him with infinite rage. "Arrest him now!" she screamed as she pointed at him. Several of the redclokes that had been entranced watching the fight suddenly snapped out of it and moved towards Clegane, following their Queens orders.

"Absolutely not! GUARDS, HOLD!" Shouted Joffrey. His voice carried across the courtyard like thunder, absolutely devoid of the old nasal twang and mewliness that had been so natural from the little shit. It was a command issued as if in the battlefield, the tone perfect for carrying itself through the song of steel and death.

The guards stopped in their tracks. Technically the Queen outranked the Prince, but all their instincts were telling them to OBEY. That gave Joffrey the time he needed. "Mother" he said as he turned to face her. "I'm completely fine, I was just having a friendly bout with the Hound."

"Friendly Bout?! You're bleeding!" She said as she looked at his sheen. "Oh" Said Joffrey as he looked downwards, "Its just a scratch" He said. Cercei seemed dumbfounded, and Joffrey took the opportunity to lean closely and whisper something into her ear. It couldn't have been more than two sentences, but the Queens expression went from enraged to considering, then a slowly building pride. "Well said my son" she said as she stood up. "But this is enough for today, and I still want Grand Maester Pycell to check that wound" she said as she, with one final glare towards the hound, left. "As you were" she ordered from the red keeps main gate, almost as an afterthought. The redcloakes visibly relaxed and backed off, eager not to tangle with the Hound and for a bad reason too… besides, they had been having just too much fun with the bouts.

-.PD.-

When the search for Lord Baelish was called off, the caravan finally set out of Kings Landing, heading North. The rescue parties had started looking more like hunting parties, fueled by recent rumors about Lord Baelish's involvement in the death of John Arryn. Rumors that coincidentally started amongst the Prince's serving staff, Sandor noted wrily.

The Prince had been busy those days. He had asked permission from his Mother to gather an official retinue for his to command. He didn't know what he had said to her, but it had worked. The prince barely had permission when he stormed through the red keep, searching for a few servants by name, about 3 or so. He then did the same in the barracks and got a hold of 6 red cloaks. None of them had known the Prince, but you wouldn't have known that from him. He greeted them as old friends and made it clear that he just expected all of them to do their duties as to the best of their abilities.

The caravan settled into a steady routine as they journeyed north. The Prince and him would train in the morning, though never as hard as the first time, mainly focusing on fitness training as Strange Joffrey's technique was excellent and somewhat unpredictable. It appeared to rely more on speed, agility and endurance than raw power, and it seemed to combine elements from regular knightly combat, water dancing, street brawling, and other influences he could not really pin point… excluding one: His own. That particular revelation was like a brick to Sandors head. Joffreys footing seemed somewhat grounded in the Hounds own style, and his fighting style was liberally peppered with dirty moves that Clegane had thought up himself.

He had taken more wine than usual that night…

The subject of the Prince's change in demenour had basically dominated the rumor mills amongst the soldiers and servants, and especially, to the Queens amusing disapproval, the imp. After training they would help his retinue packing everything and ride out. The Prince seemed to dislike the carriage, though somedays he would ride there with the Queen and his brother and sister. He rarely came out of it very happy. Sandor supposed it was because of the weariness with which his brother and sister regarded him, though that started to decrease by the time they crossed the neck. 3 weeks into the journey Joffrey would often ride his horse alongside the carriage, jesting and teasing Myrcella and often Tommen too, but with not a hint of cruelness, and even sometimes playing games with them on the stops.

But that was later. The first week of travel Joffrey mainly rode with Tyrion, debating ideas and concepts that were admittedly beyond the Hounds understanding. He still remembered the imp's first interaction with Strange Joffrey.

"Uncle! Good to see you haven't started your drinking binge without me!" he said as he just strolled into the imps tent the first day of the trip.

"Nephew!" The imp smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I've got plenty of arbor gold here if you want to join in." he said, hefting a gold-yellow bottle. The imp eyed Joffrey warily but disguised it much better than Myrcella had a week ago. Joffrey didn't know or didn't care, as usual. He sat on a nearby stool as the imp served him some arbor gold in a cup. "Thank you Uncle. Robert won't let me drink more than one cup, more than a little hypocritical if you ask me" He said, not gulping but slowly savoring the fine vintage "Clegane, don't just stand there, grab a stool and get some wine" the prince ordered him.

"I'm glad you like it. So, what can I do for you Nephew" Said the Imp as he handed a cup to Sandor. That seemed to take a bit of wind from Joffrey's sails. He gave an uncanny self-depreciating smile, and snorted a short laugh. "Everyone reacts the same…" He said as he downed the cup with one gulp. As Tyrion refilled it, he continued. "What if I don't want anything… What if I just want some conversation with the smartest man in Westeros?". There was silence as Tyrions surprise manifested itself on the jug, spilling some of the wine in the prince's boot. He didn't seem to mind though. "Ah, where are my manners. Tyrion, for being a little shit towards you, I gift you this." He simply said, handing him a boxy looking bundle after he downed the refill in one go again.

Tyrion was mute as he opened the package, not that Sandor blamed him. It was very amusing to see different people's reactions to Strange Joffrey. "Into the Dragonpit: My experiences tending the Targeryen Dragons, by Grand Maester Mellos." The imp read out loud. "I believe you have been searching for that tome for quite some time uncle." Said Joffrey, sipping from his cup.

"I… I did nephew. You have my thanks for this. It must be the first time in a hundred years this book's been read" he said as he stowed it away in his travel trunk. Joffrey snorted, "More like two days". The imp looked up in sheer disbelief "You've red it?"

"Aye, my favorite part is when he talks about cleaning the scales themselves. Did you know they used specially made copper implements for it?" Joffrey said, extending his cup for a refill. "No, no I didn't" Said Tyrion, more to himself than his audience as he absentmindedly poured some more wine into the Princes cup.

Sandor looked down into his cup.

It was already empty.

"Ah, fuck it. Might as well" He thought as he motioned the imp with his cup.

-.PD.-

So, after training the caravan moved on, stopped for lunch where the prince dined with his family, then it was on the road again. In the evening the prince would talk with the imp about all manner of things, from books and tactics to rumors and politics. The prince seemed to genuinely enjoy the conversation, mostly letting Tyrion talk but adding insightful comments from time to time. The imp started enjoying it too, after the ice had been broken.

It was by the fifth day of the first week however, that something that was definitely part of "The Plan" occurred. They had passed the Ivy Inn a day before, and the caravan was still somewhat settling itself on its rhythm. Joffrey had not started with training that morning, however.

"Wake up Clegane, we've got a long day before us" he said as he shook the hound awake. Sandor didn't know what hour it was, but the sun wasn't even peeking through the horizon. He rubbed his eyes and almost batted away the Prince when something hot touched his hand. "Calm down Clegane, its just hot tea. He said as he went out of the tent. Clegane just shook his head and gulped the entire burning liquid in one swoop. He was instantly awake.

He followed Joffrey out, were he had already saddled up both their horses. "Mount up and follow me" he said he passed the camp sentries and rode into the night. Cursing, Clegane mounted his horse and bolted after him.

They rode through a small dirt path for a couple of hours before arriving at a sleepy village next to the God's eye lake. Joffrey effortlessly navigated between the alleyways and stopped at the dock, securing his horse and jumping on a nearby row boat. "Come on Clegane! We haven't got all day!... or night… whatever." He said. Sandor just got in as fast as he could, curse the kid.

As soon as he was in they set out, Joffrey manning both paddles. He offered a switch but Joffrey would have none of it. "Clegane, my endurance is so bad that if we had a battle tomorrow I would probably die. So I'll take whatever exercise I can get!" he said with a snort of dark humor.

Against his better wishes, the hound found himself talking "Probably" he said. Joffrey harrumphed "Not probably, definitively". They spent some time like that, rowing in a somewhat companionable silence interspread with small, sarcastic banter. "I guess we are not going fishing. So were exactly are you taking us… Joffrey" (He insisted he called him like that.) "I'm awful at fishing" Joffrey said, shaking his head. "No, we are going to the isle of faces." At that, Clegane remained silent. Why here? As with all questions regarding Strange Joffrey, the questions only led to more questions.

When they made landfall, Joffrey tied the boat to a conveniently placed tree, and set out, Clegane following him.

They found a small dirt trail that let them deeper into the island. With each step Sandor took, the moonlight was harder to see. The foliage seemed to grow from all around them and weirwood trunks the size of horses dotted the pathway, each of them with its own face. Angry, sad, joyful, prideful, scared, happy. All possible human emotions had been painstakingly carved into them, tree after tree, the faces watched them. Sandor suddenly stopped. "Joffrey, we are being followed." He said, his hand slowly finding his way to his swords pommel. Joffrey seemed unconcerned however. "I know" he said as he set out again.

They walked like that for another 10 minutes before they were finally stopped. A group of men was barring the way. They had long wooden staffs and wore ragged cloaks made of leaves. "What do you seek, stranger." Said the one in front. Sandor had been ready to draw his sword by now, but Joffrey put a hand on it and gave him a warning glance. He then took a step forward and nodded towards the speaker. "I am Prince Joffrey of houses Baratheon and Lannister. I come to speak with the keeper." He said.

The men seemed to confer between themselves before they all nodded in unison, and made a tunnel between themselves. "Then go, Prince Joffrey of houses Baratheon and Lannister". The prince didn't wait, with a curt nod a whispered thank you, he was through, Clegane in toe. He almost expected to have to say some bullshit like Sandor of house clegane or something, but without a word he was through.

When they passed the men, they reached a clearing where a monstrous weirwood stood, its face simply indescribable. In front of its face stood a small man, maybe even a boy or a girl. When her face turned to them and caught a stray ray of moonlight, Clegane froze.

It was a girl alright. It was fucking children of the forest. Her features were very rounded, and her eyes were comparatively big and expressive, they stood further apart than a humans.

As Clegane froze, Joffrey kept walking like he was just getting some extra bread from the kitchens. Eventually he stopped at about 7 meters from it. She said something in a raspy language he couldn't understand. He knew it definitely wasn't valyrian or its descendant branches though, that he knew for sure.

He knew he had to stop being surprised, but he coudnt avoid his jaw falling off when Joffrey knelt and said something in the very language the Children had spoken. He said it very slow, it was almost solemn. The Children seemed vaguely surprised when he was done, and she nodded towards the men behind them, who quickly took off in three different directions.

Joffrey and the Children spoke for about half an hour, and then she was gone, calmly walking through the shrubbery and underbrush as it if was nothing. Joffrey then spent some time alone, touching the great heart tree with his bare hand. He seemed to be breathing very slowly, and when he opened his eyes he looked like he had shed a hundred years. He had a relaxed smile as he sat on one of the branches and motioned Clegane to sit with him.

"Did you know that the Greenseers could talk with each other through the heart trees of weirwood forests?" He asked him. Clegane just shook his head "Where you talking with someone right now?" he asked him, willing to believe anything by now. The question seemed to take Joffrey by surprised as he suppressed a snort and a laugh "Unfortunately I'm no Greenseer, Clegane. It would make things much easier though." He said as he looked up towards the first rays of sunlight. "No, I just like the sound of the trees and leaves scuttling about with the wind. The small warmth of the weirwood trunks, the way even the animals of the forest somehow stay quiet around them… I find they help… center me." he closed his eyes then. "The Northmen say you can hear the voices of the old gods near the heart trees. Do you feel them Clegane?" he asked him without looking. Sandor closed his eyes, trying to listen to what the prince had said. The silence was kind of eerie, the way a slow, barely perceptible wind flowed through the clearing, the slow beating of the branches swaying. The weirwood tree branch he sat upon was oddly warm too. The wind sometimes took up speed, sometimes slowed down… it was almost like… someone was…--

A loud thunk snapped him out of his pseudo-trance as he jumped up in alarm, only to find the men from before in three groups, each lowering an old but big, worn looking chest to the ground. Joffrey only opened his eyes once all three chests were on the ground. "Thank you" he told them as they nodded in return and went back to the forest.

Sandor had just had enough. "Joffrey, what the hell did you tell the… Children?!" he asked him with a glare. Joffrey seemed to think for a second or two before he nodded.

He spoke as he stood up and went to the closest chest. "Keeper, I am Joffrey of Clan Lannister. The ancient enemy awakens once more. Keeper, in the name of the realms of men, I ask you to honor the pact."

He stood in front of one of the chests as Sandor cleared his now dry throat. "What enemy?" he managed to get out.

"The White Walkers" he said as he opened the chest. It was full of dragonglass weaponry, carved with the runes of the first men.

-.PD.-

After three trips, the hound and Joffrey had managed to carry all three chests towards their carriage. Just in time too, the caravan had been ready to go when they arrived with the third chest. When they had just finished loading, Tyrion had come around from behind the carriage, looking at the chests curiously. "Just what did you find in the forest, nephew?" he asked Joffrey. "Dragonglass weaponry capable of killing White Walkers, uncle." He told him as a matter of fact, not missing a beat and not even looking from the ropes he was tying around them. "Ha! I'm sure they'll work on grumpkins and snarks too" Said Tyrion, though the jest sounded a bit shaken to Sandor's ears.

"Not that I could judge" Thought Sandor despairingly as he took a big gulp from his wineskin.

-.PD.-

The rest of the Journey North had been quite ordinary compared to that. At one point past Darry Robert had heard rumors of bandits and had taken a full 3 days to "hunt" them down. To his surprise Joffrey had accompanied him the full 3 days, but instead of talking with the king, he constantly looked at his uncle the Kingslayer, as if deciding whether to speak to him or not. In the end there were no bandits, only scared peasants, and the only conversation between the kingslayer and Joffrey was when both of them had been trying to fix the queens carriage, which broke down often.

About three weeks later, they had reached Winterfell .

-.PD.-

As soon as Winterfell was within sight, the King and his party broke into a gallop, leaving the Queens wheel house and the rest of the convoy behind. Joffrey took after him in his own horse, Sandor hard behind him. When they reached Winterfells gate King Robert, who was already greeting Lord Stark's household, turned back in surprise. "Ah, and this is my son Joffrey, Ned. Come on boy! This is the man who helped me win the rebellion, show him respect!" Robert bellowed. If Joffrey had offered some of his usual pettiness in that moment Sandor though Robert would have smashed him. He shouldn't had to worry. Clegane had been living more than a month in the constant presence of Strange Joffrey, and he prided in the fact he could discern his expression better than anyone here. What happened next was definitely interesting.

Joffrey got off his horse and greeted Stark, grabbing his forearm and nodding with a deeper respect and admiration he had ever shown his father, or in fact anyone Sandor knew. "Lord Eddard" he said, his voice strange.

Lord Stark had looked a bit nonplussed at this, but greeted him back all the same. Joffrey saluted Lady Stark and then moved down the line of assembled Stark children, greeting each one of them in a different way, noted Clegane. Lord Starks first born, Robb, he shook his hand with respect, briefly exchanging a word or two Sandor couldn't hear from where he was. At the sight of the beautiful redhead however, Joffrey's features lightened up considerably, his smile reaching the relaxed state he had only otherwise seen in the weirwood grove. Lady Sansa was already turning a shade of red that complemented her hair, and it only deepened when Joffrey took her hand and gently kissed it. Lady Sansa seemed ready to faint at this, and fortunately the prince moved on to the next in line. Silly bird, thought Sandor, though Joffrey's expression had been too genuine to be faked, he was sure of that.

The next one was quite curious indeed. Joffrey seemed to eye the smaller girl with a mix of amusement and respect, before quickly taking her hand, kissing it, muttering "Lady Arya" before quickly moving to the next in line. Quite curious.

The smaller kid he mushed his head and told him some kind of jape, which made the little one laugh, Rickon, if Sandor was not mistaken, something about a fleeing animal that just couldn't get it in his head to run in a zig zag pattern.

The other brother, Bran, he greeted amicably enough, with only a flash of …guilt? Lingering in his features before he smoothed his face once again.

The rest of the party was just now reaching the gates. It was going to be a long day, thought Sandor.

-.PD.-

The next week in Winterfell was an interesting environment for the study of Strange Joffreyness.

With Lord Stark he frequently discussed about the old gods, sometimes inviting the Imp with him. Though often times Joffrey would walk alone with Lord Stark into the godswood of winterfell, pointing at the branches and speaking solemn words. With Bran and Rickon he didn't interact too much beyond always scolding the first if he saw him climbing, and one time convincing him to let him teach the kid how to use throwing knives instead of continuing on one of his climbs.

The spars in the training yard would often be against Rob or even Lord Starks bastard Jon Snow, who Joffrey frequently insisted accompanied them whenever they did anything. At the feast of the first night Joffrey had remarked aloud that it was strange he couldn't spot Lord Stark's second son, Jon. In the subsequent awkward silence Lady Catelyn had explained he was actually outside, preferring the fresh air. To that Joffrey had exclaimed that Jon must be a damn fool for missing such a great feast, and proceeded to go outside and somehow manhandle the Stark bastard inside, seating him beside him and continue eating and speaking as if nothing had been wrong, mostly talking to Jon about swords. Everyone else had been silent for about ten seconds, after which King Robert had exploded with laughter and shouted "MORE WINE!" after which things continued on as normal and angry Cercei found a kindred soul within angry Catelyn. Sometimes Joffrey collected Tyrion so that Jon and him could both speak to the imp between bouts in the yard. "The Broken Knights" Joffrey called the trio, to his great amusment.

Robb he treated pretty much as Jon but without the closer familiarity. The most interesting ones were the sisters however. Whenever Strange Joffrey started to get too tense, he would walk Sansa through the castle and the forest. Whenever he was with her the relaxed smile from the isle of Faces would return, he would hold her hand like a lifeline and let her do most of the talking, with him gently interrupting from time to time, but mostly just going with the flow.

More questions, par for the course with Strange Joffrey.

-.PD.-

Joffrey had made a bold announcement a couple of nights before the caravan was due back south. He had marched up to Lord Stark in the middle of a feast, me and the rest of his retinue carrying the three chests behind us.

"Lord Stark, If I could? This will be short." He said. Lord Stark looked bewildered by the sudden appearance of the chests, but gave the go ahead all the same. The dining hall was quiet as Joffrey projected his voice to carry.

"The men of the Nights Watch and the entire North have for millennia defended the northern frontiers of our 7 kingdoms. It has been a long watch, spanning thousands of years, yet with little gratitude from us Southrons."

He stepped down from the dais and opened one of the chests. "It is because of this, and as a token of my appreciation, and really the appreciation of the whole South, that I'd like to give each Lord and Lady of the North, their sons and daughters, and the men from the Nights watch, a ceremonial dragonglass weapon." There where quiet, if somewhat approving murmurs at this. He continued as he shrewdly took a dragonglass dagger and let it shine beneath the light of the torches. His voice acquired a hard edge, a distinctive force, as he said his last piece. "Legends and Myths tells us these where one of the few weapons that could even hurt the dreaded white walkers, and that means the Watchers and Northmen of the Age of Heroes carried this hallowed blades with them. It would be an honor for all our Kingdoms if they were to return to such ancient tradition."

"Lord Stark, would you accept this gift in the name of the North?" He asked him as sudden silence fell before the great feast.

Lord Stark seemed to have a hard time repressing an approving smile as he stood up and proclaimed in a booming voice "I Lord Eddard Stark, Warden and Lord Paramount of the North, accept this beautiful gift in the name of all Northmen" He solemnly proclaimed.

The crowd in the feasting hall barely waited a second after Lord Eddard accepted before breaking in wild cheers and applaus, mostly from the Northern hosts. All their starks and, really all the inhabitants of Winterfell were applauding madly, most of all little Arya, which, it seemed would now technically own her own dragonglass dagger.

On the southern side, however, the reception was more contested. It was a mix of befuddlement and indifference, with exceptions like King Robert clapping wildly and proudly looking at his son, and Cercei's demure clapping that didn't hide a vaguely disapproving frown.

Sandor just smiled, not even shaking his head, and clapped like any Northman. Being around Strange Joffrey guaranteed you something. You were never bored.

And best of all, Joffrey was to have one of his walks with Lord Stark tomorrow morning, so he wouldn't be needed. He thought about that for a while before downing his ale and shouting for another one.

He shouldn't have bothered, the Northman beside him practically chugged his own ale at Sandor, while heartily palming his back.

Strange Joffrey, never go away.

-.PD.-

It happened when I least expected it, of course. So many things run like clockwork, time and again, both in Westeros and Essos.

Wildlings were not one of them.

"RAIDERS!!!" Shouted one of the Stark guards before he took an arrow to the throat.

Ned and I had been "scouting" the wolfswood, talking about the old gods how they spoke to one in the heart trees if one just strained to listen. This time Ned had taken me for "the walk" way earlier than usual. Usually, getting Ned to defrost around me was the Others own task, sometimes literally, but in this life, Ned had quickly gotten used to his idea of walking about the wolfswood, trading ideas about ruler ship and duty, stories about the war, tips about raising children. Anything and everything. Mostly though, they walked in silence, playing the game of listening for the sounds of the wildlife, though not their presence, rather, their absence. When the forest was quiet, it usually meant there was a weirwood heart tree nearby. When that happened, they would find it, and try to listen to the old gods. Ned, as always, had found it a good idea and a profound spiritual journey.

They had been alone, save for 3 winterfell men-at-arms and 2 of his redcloak retinue, Barret and Orland. The possibility of a wilding raid this far south had been negligle…

They had stopped, noting the lack of sound. "Must be one nearby" said Ned, quietly as was his want. "I'm not so sure" I said, working through my staggering memories, searching for this location in the wolfswood. We were about 40 minutes walking distance to the north west… past the great tree to the south… then…

I was sure.

There wasn't supposed to be any Heart trees around here.

"RAIDERS!!!" Shouted one of the Stark guards before he took an arrow to the throat.

A chorus of wilding screams erupted all around us as more than a dozen wildings rose from the floor and charged right at us. There was barely time to get our weapons out before they were upon us, and barely any time to think.

"FOR WINTERFELL!!!" Roared Ned, taking out his longsword as he cut down one of the widlings.

"FOR THE LIVING!!!!" I Roared as I took my hand axe and Whitebane, the perfect combination for a wight and White Walker attack. However, they would serve just fine against unarmored wildlings. I quickly gave myself to the frenzy as I parried blows with the long, beautiful valyrian steel dagger that was Whitebane, sometimes even cutting the wildling weapons in half. They never saw the steel axe that cleaved their skulls, so concerned and greedy they were over whitebane's glossy white shine.

For the Living, I thought, amused. I have been fighting the godsdamned white walkers too much time for my sanity. The wild melee quickly sorted itself out, with everyone except Nedd and me dead.

"I think that was the last of them" Said Ned as he took deep breaths, looking shaken. I had been about to respond when I saw an archer behind Ned. "NED WATCH OUT!" I shouted tossing him to the ground at the same time a loud THUNG broke the silence of the forest.

"Ow" I said, dumbly staring at the shaft protruding from my chest. I quickly snapped out of it as the archer took another arrow from the quiver. "No" I said as I grabbed a throwing knife from the only set I was carrying.

The second arrow pinned my hand to my chest, only millimeters away from the throwing knive. "You've got to be kidding me" I muttered. It had to be a lucky shot. I looked back to the archer, he was staring dumbly at me before snapping out of it and going for another arrow. I grunted as I grabbed a throwing knive with my other hand and threw it towards the bastard. He barely managed to fire a third arrow before the knife flew true and took him in the eye.

The third arrow got to me a millisecond after he went down. It impacted with a loud thud, though it curiously didn't hurt as much as the others. Hmm, how about that.

I fell on my knees, my blood pooling around me. I was about to fall chest first on top of the ground when Ned grabbed me. My head felt numb and wobbly, and some strange sort of buzz surrounded my extremities. "Hold on your grace!" said Ned as he slowly reclined me on the ground.

The buzz was now quite loud, though not annoying, more like soothing. "Hold on Prince Joffrey" Ned seemed desperate, he must have figured out the wounds were fatal.

"Oh.. Ned… Must you… always… be so.. for..mal.." I struggled to say. I had to spit the blood that had been blocking my airways to speak well again.

I needed to say something to Ned, something very important… what was it..?

"Ned… Ned… you've been.. like a Father to me" I coughed more blood. The purple would be coming for me soon. I had to be quick, I didn't know why it was so important, but I had to say it. "I.. would have gone insane… if after all this time… you hadn't been there…" the buzz was so loud I couldn't hear his voice anymore. He seemed confused… why? It was all so obvious… "What I'm trying… what … I …loved you like a father that.. unlike him.. you where there… for... me…..."

Old gods please... old gods please let me die…

There was only darkness, but I could already feel the sour, pungent smell of the Strangler coming for me.

I've paid for my sins a thousand times over… There's nothing else I can do... I cant beat them…

I started to choke. It was always the same, always the same. I could remember my second life, gods, how stupid and naive I had been…..

Gasping for air in the darkness, I remembered… I remembered my second life.

-.PD.-

He gasped, trying to claw his throat, purple filling his entire vision, as his throat crunched and collapsed upon itself. He needed air. He needed air. He NEEDED AIIIIRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP.

I slid down the floor and vomited, the stench of disgusting vile clogging my airways. Taking deep breaths I tried to stand up as someone steadied me…

I had died.

My traitorous uncle had poisoned me in my own wedding! THE FUCKING TRAITOR.

As my mysterius helper took me up, I looked at who he really was. The fucking Hound! Another fucking traitor that had abandoned me in my hour of need. They were specters, coming to torment me in the afterlife! I shoveled him as I run and run and run. I didn't see were I was going until I bursted into the courtyard, were my Father--

What.

My Father was out in the courtyard, mounting his horse, ready to go on one of his stupid hunts.

Beside him were people.. people that should be dead…

There was a small patch of water on the courtyard, probably remnants from some rain. I took steps towards it, hesitantly, until I saw my face in the reflection. I was younger… I …had somehow come back in time…

The reality of the situation was overwhelming.

Then, I started laughing. And laughing. And laughing. I cackled like a maniac in front of the entire courtyard.

I knew what was to come, and the TRAITOURS would fucking PAY!!! I WILL have ALL their HEADS!!!!!!

**Authors Note:**

Hello SB! You may be familiar with the basic premise of this from Duesal_bladesinger's excellent "Return of the King". I came up with the idea independently but never got around to write anything with it until I saw his take on it and inspired me, so kudos to him! Read it if you haven't!

Joffrey is in some deep shit, he just doesent know it. To eventually save the world it will take cunning, strength, carisma, skill, sheer force of will and MOST OF ALL a SHIT TONNE of character development.


	2. CHAPTER 2

Chapter Two: Dealing with Future Traitors.

Joffrey had been escorted out to his room, despite his strident orders and incessant mewlings, and had finally been sedated by Grand Maester Pycell with milk of the poppy.

When Joffrey had awoken he hadn't been pleased to say the least, but he had decided to bide his time for the day… and plan.

There were two traitors that had ensured the downfall of Joffreys righteous reign. His evil uncle, Tyrion, and the Starks, particularly the wolf barbarian Robb Stark. The Arch-traitor Eddard Stark would die anyway at his command, but Robb Stark had made a mokery of his reign, winning victory after victory against the incompetent commanders of his family. Take those two out, and his Baratheon uncles would waste each other, leaving him to pick apart the winner like last time, and his reign would be unchallenged.

Easy.

But now he had to deal with the closest traitor, the freaking imp.

Plan decided, the next day Joffrey went to Pycell's study and found the doddering fool reading from some parchments. "Grand Maester" He commanded his attention.

Pycell took an eternity lifting his chin to face him "Ahh, My Prince, I trust you are feeling better today?" He asked haltingly and almost in a whisper. How could someone so weak and frail hold the position of Grand Maester?

"Yes yes, but that's not what I'm here for today. You see Pycell, I was reading a story the other day about a man who got poisoned, and I'd like to know the poisons name. Its effects were like having one's throat…" Here Joffrey staggered a bit. "Crushed, it wouldn't let him breath…" Joffrey took some deep breaths before continuing "Do you understand?"

Pycell looked at him vacantly, until he finally nodded. "Aye, It sounds like The Strangler, my prince."

The Strangler.

A shudder crossed Joffrey body. So that was its name… the name of his killer.

"Show it to me" He commanded. If he didn't know any better he would a sworn Pycell was staring at him shrewdly, but the moment passed and his face deflated once more. "Of course my prince" he said as he stood up, went to a nearby cupboard and took out a small vial with a black-prurplish liquid. "This is it. Skilled alchemists in Essos can even make it in a solid, inactive state." He said as he showed him the vial.

Joffrey eyed the vial greedily. But he wouldn't take it now, that would be obvious. "Thank you Maester" He said as he took off, hiding his sadistic grin.

-.PD.-

The wait was almost too much for Joffrey, but he made it to the night, savoring the eventual, ironic death of the imp in his mind time and again. Finally at midnight, he got off his bed, still clothed, and took off in direction of the Grand Maester study. His unfaithful hound followed him. He would have ordered him killed already because of his betrayal, if he wasn't so useful as a sworn shield… for now.

They got up to the tower and right to the Maesters study. There was only one problem.

It was locked.

Joffrey gave it a kick with all his force, only for him to rebound off and crash into the floor, clutching his knee and barely managing not to sob. "Hound.. I… Take down the door!" He commanded.

His unfaithful hound looked at him askance. "DO IT! Your Prince commands it!" he commanded once more. He would have the rabid dog flogged if he didn't comply, but that would delay his plans for the imp…

The hound snorted. "Fine, on your head be it." He said, resigned as he shouldered the heavy door. It took 3 times to finally break the lock, and the rightful King was in. Joffrey quickly went to the cupboard Pycell had shown him, and took the flask. "You'll die like you wanted me to, treacherous imp" he muttered as he came down the stairs.

They found two guards jogging up, probably to see what the noise was all about. "Return to your posts" he commanded them. The two guards looked between them, then back to their rightful King. "But m'prince, we heard—" "I COMMAND you get back to your posts! Do I have to flog you to make you understand?!" Joffrey almost yelled at them. The guards seem to look at each other, probably cowering in fear, before excusing themselves and going back down.

Joffrey kept going, straight to the Imp's solar. "Wait outside Hound." He said as he entered without knocking, hoping to startle the traitor.

"Nephew?" asked Tyrion, clearly startled. He was comfortably laying in a long chair in front of his desk, reading a book like always, surrounded by candles and a half full bottle of Dornish red. "Uncle" Said Joffrey, briefly savouring Tyrions surprise before taking a seat opposite to him. Oh if only he knew...

"What can I do for you at this late hour? Shouldn't you be in bed?" Tyrion asked him. Joffrey seethed with anger. He dares to insult his future king!?. He had to take deep breathes again to hold himself in check. Only the prospect of imminent revenge served to sooth him. "I've decided you shall keep me company now, uncle." He told him.

The imp seemed a bit wary at this, eying him carefully. There was a minute or two of uncomfortable silence in which Joffrey twirled his fingers, trying to think something to say. Finally, the imp spoke. "Well then, I guess I better give you a cup, you didn't take it from me though." He said as he refilled both his cup and an empty one.

Perfect.

They drunk from their cups, the silence heavier with each passing moment. Finally Joffrey made his move. "Uncle, what are those books?" He asked him. The imp seemed startled by the question, turning back to his small library behind him. Joffrey fumbled with the vial, trying to leave only a few drops, but his clumsiness ensured the whole contents of it were spilled on the cup. He sat back up quickly. "Well, yes… they are books… where you thinking about one in particular?" asked his uncle as he turned back towards him. "Uhh, No." He said. The imp raised an eyebrow, and grabbed his cup, looking at it curiusly. He then gave him a suspicious look after settling it down. The imp suddenly looked behind Joffrey, "Did you bring more people Nephew?" he asked puzzled.

No no no if someone else came the plan would be ruined! He looked backwards, but spotted no one, the door was still closed. He sighed with relief as he turned back to the imp. "There's no one there uncle, but enough of this!" It was time to end this. "A toast, for the Lannisters!".

The imp was staring at him incredulous, before downing his cup in one fell swoop. "Aye, for the Lannisters… Nephew".

YEEESSS!!! Joffrey downed his cup too, though the wine was remarkably sour for his taste, he couldn't care less, the traitor would die and he would see it with his own eyes. He could already fel the excitement take him, the same kind of excitement that seem to fulfill him, propel him when he dissected small rats, or later when he practiced his aim on the crossbow with the smallfolk.

His uncle was staring at him, bemused. Joffrey let his cruel smile break out as he savored the moment.

The Imp eyed him carefully as Joffrey coughed once, then twice, three times.

"I know this flavor" He thought in mounting horror. He started grasping his throat, trying to get some air, but failing as his throat started to collapse upon itself.

The imp's bemused smirk seemed to seep out of him like rainwater. "Just what the hells were you going to feed me?!" He asked in a panic as he got from his seat.

Joffrey couldn't answer, he slid down his chair, convulsing on the floor, his hands tearing at his throat.

"Oh no oh no oh no" Said Tyrion as he run towards Joffrey grabbing at his throat but clearly not knowing what to do.

"HELP! Someone call the Grand Maester!" Tyrion shouted in a panic.

Joffrey's vision was turning black, but the pain was not like last time, last time when all was near black, the pain had started to fade away… but here it was only growing stronger, it was as if his throat was a snake coiling upon itself, shredding his neck.

The last thing he saw was the hound bursting into the room, trying to help the imp before shaking his head.

"Shit... The Queen will have your head for this, imp."

"But—but—Joffrey was the one --I--…" The imps panicky defense was the last thing he heard.

Darkness

Purple

Pain

Please… AAAAAIIIIIIRRRRRR

Joffrey had never felt such pain in his life.

Help…

-.PD.-

He was throwing up on the floor… again?

He struggled as the Hound helped him up, and sat him on his bed. Joffrey shook his head, looking at his hands. He was… alive again..? He had been killed and resurrected again?!

Joffrey let that thought percolate throughout his head for a while. As the Hound arrived again, this time with the Grand Maester in tow, one thought dominated Joffrey's mind.

I'm Immortal.

I'm fucking Immortal.

He didn't see it, but both the Grand Maester and the Hound were looking at his sadistic smile with differing levels of wariness.

-.PD.-

Joffrey didn't know why, but it seemed he had all the time in the world. If he was killed he would just come back again, and kill the ones that killed him, simple.

With that in mind, Joffrey sat on his bed, pondering his plans. Trying to kill the Imp in such a convoluted way had been… not the best idea he'd ever had. Besides, he could just wait until he was king, then he could just order him behead, or better yet, force fed the Strangler.

Joffrey's chain of thought was interrupted by an unwonted shiver.

Well he would see how the imp would die, but that would come later. There was one person however who wouldn't be in his grasp when he was crowned. The Arch-Traitor's son, Robb.

His last plan had failed because it was too complicated, he would go at it simple this time. He could hardly wait for the caravan to depart North…

-.PD.-

The journey North had been as boring and tedious as he remembered, possibly even more so. By the Neck, he could hardly restrain himself, wanting to shoot at every smallfolk farmer they passed. As it was he had quietly sneaked away at night and dissected a few rabbits he had managed to "acquire" from a nearby farm. It had worked, a little.

When they reached Winterfell his fat Father had already gone to the wolf bitch's tomb or whatever, and the Lady Catelyn was introducing her children to the rest of the Lannisters.

Joffrey barely managed not to slap the traitors useless daughter, Sansa. To think that he would be required to act the "courting prince" again made his stomach curl. But he would bear it, all for the revenge. After all, it wasn't too far now.

The spineless bitch had been the same as last time, wooing and cooing at whatever fake flattery left Joffrey's mouth. Margaerey had been a much better at pleasing him, her words always the right ones, praising him as was her duty. She was even more beautiful than the Northern whore. If she imagined Sansa was Maergery it made his duty a tiny bit more bearable. In truth he could hardly wait until the Tyrells smashed Stannis forces and brought him his prize.

He had not been as… hostile Joffrey guessed was the word, this time around. He had kept up to his good graces and acted like Mother had wanted him to, though it had been hard, and maybe a few of the northerns doubted something…

In any case, it had been worth it. He had been watching Robb and his bastard brother Jon in the training yard. He watched as the bout ended, surprisingly, in the bastards favour. The boys heartily shook each other's hands, jesting and laughing. A sudden stab completely unexpected pain seemed to claw at Joffreys heart for a second. Why couldn't he have a family like that?

Bewildered, Joffrey shook his head. Just as it had come, the feeling was gone. It was time.

Robb entered the armory a few meters away from the training yard. Jon was following close behind, but Joffrey got to Jon before he entered. "Jon… Your Father wishes to speak to you" He told him. The bastard looked at him a bit confused. Belatedly, Joffrey realized he hadn't spoken to him before… ever. Seeing Jon's doubt, Joffrey insisted. "He said it was urgent, something about…" think think "Arya, I think was her name?". At this Jon was instantly alert "Has something happened to her?!" he asked Joffrey, shaken. At his shrug Jon took off in the main keeps direction.

Joffrey nodded to himself, grabbing the crossbow he had left stashed right next to the door.

Inside, Robb had already removed his armor and was cleaning his sword. "I'll get you next time Jon, you'll see" Said Robb, still giving him his back as he continued to clean his sword. Joffrey checked around the armoury… there was no one. The crossbow was already cocked, and he carefully aimed it at Robb as he slowly walked forward.

Don't screw this up, don't screw this up. He thought as he steadily got closer. 8 meters. 7 meters… 6 meters…

"Whats going on Jon? Intimidated?" Laughed Robb as he stood up and turned around, freezing at the sight of Joffrey with a crossbow aimed at his heart.

Robb looked at Joffrey.

Joffrey looked at Robb.

The distance was 5 meters.

THUNG

The Bolt impacted Robb just above the heart, sending him crashing down against the sword racks behind him. Sudden sadistical elation filled Joffrey to the core of his being as he reloaded.

"You really thought you could plan your treason just like that? Young Wolf" He said his name with all the sneer he could muster. Robb was trying to speak, but no sound would come out of his mouth.

"Die Traitor!" Whispered Joffrey with all his being as he fired again, this time the bolt hitting Robbs head, leaving it a bloody mess.

"ROBB NOOOOOO!!!!" Someone screamed. Startled, Joffrey turned around to see the bastard of Winterfell staring at Robb's body, then at Joffrey.

Jon roared as he took a sword from the racks and charged him.

"I command you to stop!!!" Joffrey shouted, to no effect.

"I-I-Im the prince!!!" He screamed as he dropped the crossbow and fumbled for a sword. He would have to hold until the Hound found him!

Jon reached him just as Joffrey took a sword. He parried the first blow. The second blow chopped off his sword hand.

Joffrey stared in mild incomprehension as the stump squirted blood everywhere. He looked at it for maybe 2 seconds before the bastard rammed his sword through his chest. He tried spitting at him, but his body was unresponsive…. He had been defeated like an infant.

He could hear distant screams as the darkness seem to take him… and a pungent, sour smell seemed to take a hold of senses.

No… no…

He hadn't even died by the Strangler this time, but he could feel its effects, crushing his windpipe and twisting his neck like a coiled snake. Air burned in his lungs as he drowned again, the piercing, jagged pieces of his traquea stabbing him from the inside.

PAIN.

UNBEARABLE PAIN.

The purple consumed him.


	3. CHAPTER 3

Chapter 3: The Red Wolf.

-.PD.-

Joffrey found himself being shaken around by the Hound. "Snap out of it!" Said the Hound as Joffrey kept shaking and breathing like a drowning sailor. Very slowly, Joffrey regained his senses.

The pain… its gone…

He took a deep, shuddering breath as he got back up into his bead, dismissing the Hound. He anxiously rubbed the spot where the bastards blade had impaled him. Defeated like an infant… The humiliation… killed by a freaking bastard… Joffrey felt his hands start to shake, and a red rage started to fill him. With a roar, he grabbed a nearby vase and smashed it across the wall, screaming. A couple of pieces from the vase cut his hands, and they were now bleeding all over the floor. He stared at them, confused. He's sudden rages were strange, coming and going at his anger or at the sight of blood… or sometimes with no reason at all. The pure thought of the bastard driving his sword through his belly, however, drove that sudden insight out of his mind as the rage took him again. He tried to upend his bed chest, but only managed to briefly lift it before it came crashing down, leaving his fingers full of bruises.

"AAh" he mewled as he lost his balance and fell on his rear. Tears started to form on his eyes as the memories from his death, particularly the long eternity of pain that was the purple. I haven't cried in ages, now is not the time, he said to himself. As he successfully contained them, a single thought dominated his head as he stared at his bloody and torn hands.

"I am weak…" He whispered. The feeling of despair gradually made its way to another feeling Joffrey had not had in ages. Determination.

No.

He stood up, went out, and looked at the Hound. "Hound, I want you to teach me how to fight" he said.

The Hound looked dismayed.

-.PD.-

After a quick detour to the Training Armory, dawn saw Joffrey padded up from head to toe in training armor, and wielding a training arming sword. Joffrey had been a terrible swordsman since basically forever, he admitted that. That's why he had preferred the simple elegance and killing power of the crossbow. But now, one thing had made itself clear in Joffrey's mind. In the Game of Thrones, nobody gave a crap about bodyguards and sworn shields. Take those away, and even a fucking bastard woth a sword could bring down a king… but not for long.

Joffrey was sure that after a few lessons with the hound, he would be ready to stand on his own without the need of the incompetents that surrounded him.

Shifting inside the padded suit, and already filled with perspiration from the morning sun, Joffrey gestured Clegane. "Hound, is this really necessary?! It stinks in here!" he told him as he shifted uncomfortably. He snorted. "If I lay a scratch on you the Queen will have my head, so yes. Besides, if not you'd be kneeling over in pain at every blow" he said.

Awkwardly shifting the training arming sword, Joffrey nodded then. "Fine then, just get on with it." He told him. "Right, first you got to work with your footwork. Footwork is one of the most important parts of swordsmanship, you get that right, you're on the right path."

"Footwork?!" Joffrey said, disbelievingly. "Aye, now I'm going to do a series of slow attacks on you, and I want you to bloody parry em the best as you can to see how far back we need to start".

Should have taken two crossbows to that fucking armory in Winterfell, thought Joffrey as he wiped a bit of sweat from his face. "I'm freaking ready Hound, just get on with it!" he commanded.

The Hound rolled his eyes and attacked him.

Okay, this is easy. He thought as he parried the blow. The next one caught him in the arm.

"OOUUU" He screeched as he fell on the floor, frantically rubbing his arm while the Hound looked on in disbelief. "Did that actually hurt you?" He asked, actually raising one of his half burnt eyebrows. Joffrey was on the floor, swaying lightly while he rubbed his arm again and again. "What does it look like you stupid dog!? Of course it hurts!!!" he nearly screamed at him.

The hound shook his head slowly, and let out a long sight as Joffrey stormed off back to the Red Keep.

-.PD.-

Joffrey was running, running as fast as his feet could carry him. But every time he got away from him, he was back at the armory, full of swords everywhere and nowhere to run. The bastard appeared from the shadows, licking his long, bloody wolf fangs. "You shouldn't have done that Joffrey" He said as he took a sword from the stands. "Stop! My Father is the King!" screamed Joffrey as he looked for a way out.

There was none. Only walls upon walls full of swords.

"You shouldn't have done that Joffrey" repeated the abomination as it kept walking towards him. "M-m-m-my Gr-g-grand-fa-father c-can re-re-reward- you!" he mumbled as he was finally cornered.

"Grab a sword, Lannister." The abomination told him. Joffrey took one of the swords on the stands, clutching it with all his might and swinging it threateningly towards it. "Get away!"

"Winter is Coming!!!" Said the abomination as it swung his sword in a horizontal blow right at Joffrey's neck. Joffrey tried to parry but his sword only moved slowly, at a snails pace, slowly gowing up and up and the speed of an ant. Joffrey struggled with all his strength, but it wouldn't go any faster.

"Too slow" Rasped the thing as it made a deep gash on Joffrey's neck, going all the way to his torso. The pain, oddly enough, didn't hurt so much.

It was the purple that seemed to surround him that drove Joffrey mad with despair.

NO! Please NOOO! NOT AGAIN!!! He could already feel his neck twisting—

He awoke with a gasp, half expecting to find vomit all over the floor and the Hounds judgmental looks, but… it was just his traveling tent. Joffrey took some quick breaths, and looked down. He was drenched in sweat. He made himself a ball and stayed there, unable to sleep throughout the rest of the night. When morning came, he stepped outside to find the Hound guarding his tent door. "Ho-Hound" He said, shaken. "Let's c-continue the training".

Clegane nodded.

After the whole morning doing baby slow exercises, learning the basic stuff that apparently every lords son knew by 7, Joffrey was finally out of that fucking suit. Even with all the padding he felt like he had been trampled on by a pack of horses. He had ridden on his mother's wheelhouse, and had thought about tormenting Myrcella before sleep claimed him. He was just too fucking tired to care.

He decided he was going to bide his time in his fourth life. There was no sense in rushing things. After all, Joffrey thought, things had mostly been going his way up to his wedding. So it was kind of stupid to mess up things now. Sure the 'Young Wolf' made a mockery of his reign and had been scarily closed to ending his rule… but he had eventually won, hadn't he?

Sometime past the Neck, when the cold wind blew and Joffrey felt weak beneath all his furs, alone in his tent, he would wonder if that decision hadn't come about because the thought of facing the Stark brothers again made ice curl at his stomach.

-.PD.-

He spent his time in Winterfell mostly on his own, avoiding everyone, especially the Starks. When the imp came to make him give his sympathies to Lady Stark after Bran's fall Joffrey barred the door to his chambers, and no about of eloquent ramblings by the imp would budge him.

Finally the week was over and they returned South, moving again at a snail's pace and with the arch-traitor and its daughters in tow. The sudden impulses flared up every time he looked at Lord Stark, and he had to breathe deeply to avoid cleaving open his stomach every time he saw him. The traitor was already plotting his usurpation, waiting for his Father to die. The very thought of him talking every morning with his Father made his blood boil. It should be HIM, his SON that the King should laugh with in the morning, take hunting, and share tales. ME!

He swallowed his anger. Soon.

When they arrived at the Red Keep Joffrey continued as usual with his routine, with a few changes. He redoubled his training with the hound, and tried to spend as little time with the useless Sansa as he could. He couldn't avoid the occasional flare up around her even so though. Sometimes he would leave her shaking her head in confusion and sometimes with tears. It served to conserve his patience.

The day his Father died the Arch traitor made his move, as expected. Slynt and Baelish led the goldcloakes into the throne room and Joffrey licked his lips in anticipation.

His brave mother ripped the fake Will as always, and Slynt's men butchered the Traitors guards as it was destined. "Don't kill Lord Stark, take him to the black cells!" He said as he stood up, just to make sure. He wouldn't be having the traitor go the easy way… oh no. Not even like last time. He had something special planned for the Arch-Traitor.

As his men took him to the black cells where he belonged, Joffrey swallowed triumph.

At last… I am King. No one can stop me now.

The throne felt as powerful as ever, and he felt his body had been molded for it.

Tonight…

-.PD.-

He had been planning this for over a week, all preparations had been made, from the plaza in front of Baelor's Sept, to the instruments needed for tonight. The bloodlust had been growing within Joffrey, and it took his entire will not to start cutting up someone up as he silently went down the stairs, only accompanied by the torturers assistant. They stopped in front of the traitors cell, and Joffrey smiled.

Stark squinted at the torch in Joffrey's hand. "V-Varys?" He asked.

"No, Lord Stark. Me" Said Joffrey, the light of his torch casting a macabre light on the array of knives and torture implements carried in a tray by the torturers assistant.

"P-Prince Joffrey? If you're going to kill me, just do it" He said as he struggled to look at the tray.

"Oh no Stark, Not this time" He said as he opened the cell doors.

-.PD.-

When morning came in the plaza of Baelor's Sept, the crowds had already assembled. Bellow Baelors statue, in the small platform that elevated them from the smallfolk filth, sat Joffrey and the rest of the Lannisters, Clegane, Ser Illyn Payne, the members of the small council and Sansa, all either sitting or standing, waiting for Stark to arrive from the cells. Joffrey sat in the middle of them all, waiting.

This will teach them. No one will dare rebel after this, there will be peace. My Peace.

Both the crowd and the nobles on the dais looked puzzled as instead of Lord Stark, the guards carried a small wheelbarrow towards the execution spot. Curiosity turned to bewilderment when the stench of the wheelbarrow reached them.

Joffrey stood up. "People of King's Landing!" Joffrey proudly declared. "Lord Eddard Stark plotted to take my rightful throne before my Father's body was even cold, and now he has paid the price ALL traitors will pay in MY reign!" Mother was looking at him then at the wheelbarrow, trying to understand, and his uncle Jaime was making his way towards it while Sansa just looked confused.

"BEHOLD!" He shouted with relish as he gestured the guards.

The wheelbarrow was tilted a bit forward, and the blanked on top of it was revealed. Inside was Lord Stark's body… What remained of it. His body was chopped up in pieces, his face a rictus of horror and pain. Cuts and torn flesh run through the length of body in a gruesome display of the fate of traitors.

A sudden sob, so full of anguish and despair that Joffrey turned to look around, filled the square. It was made all the more harrowing by the heavy silence that had descended all over the plaza. Sansa seemed to convulse, on her knees, grabbing her hair and screamed and screamed and screamed.

So distracted was Joffrey by the screaming he didn't see at first the wild grey thing that scuttled up the steps, passing between his surprised red cloak guards. "FATHEEEER!!!" Screamed… Arya? Joffrey fumbled for his sword as the mad girl with some kind of small rapier dashed between or underfoot his useless, gaping kingsuards.

The hound's lessons was the only thing that saved him.

He parried one, two blows. The third one was not looking so good for Joffrey, but fortunately, all he had needed was to buy time. The Hound ruthlessly swung his massive sword and almost cut the Arch traitors youngest in half. Blood was sprayed all over the dais as the crazy girl gaped at her slit belly before she toppled backwards.

Joffrey looked around as he sheathed his sword but the overall reactions were… not what he had been expecting. Cercei was looking at Starks body and then at Arya with her hand in her mouth, silent. The guards all around were shifting uneasily inside their armors, swiftly eying the corpse before looking back at the crowd. All around Baelors Sept there was silent, broken only by the wailing sobs of Sansa.

His uncle Jaime seemed to snap out of it. "Guards! Form square! Back to the Red Keep now!" he started shoving red cloakes around until them got into some kind of box formation. Jaime approached Joffrey. He was going to grab him by the shoulder, but seemed to think better about it. "My King, we better leave now." He told him, with a look of… disgust?!

After the reveal of Starks body Joffrey had been looking back and forth in mild confusion, nonplussed by everyone's else's reaction. After Aryas attack he had shaken out of it, but as they moved through the road back to the Red Keep, the smallfolk scattering out of the way, Joffrey looked at his hands, shaking his head. Why had been everybody so shocked?! Was it not a fitting punishment for a traitor?

When they were safely back to the Red Keep, a still weeping Sansa was taken to her rooms, now crying for the death of her sister too Joffrey guessed. His uncle Jaime and her Mother were speaking quickly between themselves.

"Lord Stark… tortured to death and his youngest daughter slain in front of the entirety of Kings Landing. The seven hells will freeze before the Northerns make peace with us" Said Jaime as he gave Joffrey an inscrutable look. "Then we will have to win then, wont we Jaime" Said a shaken Cercei as she squeezed his hand.

She turned to Joffrey. "…Sweetie, aren't you feeling a bit tired after today? I think you need some rest." She said, signaling some guards. Joffrey nodded silently as the storm of strange feelings inside him only grew.

-.PD.-

Joffrey had spent the next couple of days mainly on his bedchamber, thinking. When he remembered what he did to Lord Stark he felt a fierce satisfaction. But when he remembered the moment he revealed his deed to King's Landing, the ominous silence and the awful, damned howling sob of Sansa, he felt nauseous. He wasn't sure at what exactly, but he hadn't eaten for about 3 days after that, chucking back out even mashed food. Sometimes, when he had been little, he remembered he had gotten through similar episodes after his first times experimenting with rats…

The worst were the dreams. He would hear Sansa's sobs and screams again and again at the same time he tortured Lord Stark in the black cells. She sat on the corner not begging him to stop, just sobbing and looking at every detail of his Father's torture with her wide eyes. He tried to stop, if only to make her SHUT UP, but his hands continued on with his bloody work despite all that he tried. He would wake up with a deep pit in his belly, his bedsheets drenched in sweat and his pillow wet and salty.

After about a week of this, Joffrey decided to confront Sansa, in a desperate effort to figure out what was going on.

When he inquired about her, one of his guards shook his head in bewilderment. "The Lady Sansa m'prince?" He asked without meeting his eyes. "She managed to slay 2 guards with a kitchen knife before she was taken down trying to 'scape m'prince" he hurriedly said as he moved on with his duties.

Joffrey was left paralised.

So the useless, simpering bitch had a bit of courage after all. He thought, strangely shaken by the tale. He shook his head. What the fuck did it matter anyway? The rest of the Starks would die and the Tyrells would arrive in a couple of weeks with his future Queen. He just had to wait.

His mother had been serving as hand while he had been… indisposed. She seemed to be doing a good job at it, so she let her be. After all, the court was boring. Sometimes simpering smallfolk would come to the castle begging for this or that. Joffrey would have had them shot with arrows or made to dance to his amusement if he had been sitting in the throne… probably.

-.PD.-

It seemed his handling of the Arch-Traitor and the deaths of the two Stark girls had somewhat… backfired.

The traitor Robb Stark, called "the Red Wolf" by friends and foes alike had skipped the Twins and rushed south, not even bothered by the siege of Riverrun. He had clashed against his Grandfather Tywin in a surprise attack over the Green Fork. Details were sketchy, but some kind of trap had been sprung and the enraged Northern army had fallen like a pack of bloodhounds upon the Westerland armies. It was rumored Robb had drowned Tywin himself on the red stained waters of the Green Fork, but that was unconfirmed. The only thing for certain as of a few days ago was that his granduncle Kevan had been leading the shattered Westerland remnants in a fighting retreat south, and that Jaime, who had just taken control of the troops in Riverrun, had lifted the siege and was dashing to rendezvous with them at Castle Darry.

The war was suddenly in the balance… but he would prevail. The traitor Robb was as stupid as he was blinded by his "Honour" that had gotten him killed the first time around, Joffrey was sure it would get him killed this time too.

-.PD.-

The war was turning desperate.

The Red Wolf had surrounded and annihilated Kevan's remnants, and 4 days later he had stolen a march from Jaime and conducted some kind of mid night ambush that had taken heavy casualties from both sides. Joffrey lacked the military understanding to judge whether it had been a stalemate or a defeat to the Lannisters, but his uncle Jaime had been steadily retreating south since then.

His mother had sent Lord Baelish to woo the Tyrell's at about the same time she had done so in his first life, so they should still arrive to smash Stannis in the rear and hopefully push the mad wolf back.

He was not worried.

The pit in his stomach continued to grow larger with each day.

-.PD.-

Uncle Jaime was dead. As the shattered remnants of his army reached King's Landing the details started trickling in. There had been a decisive battle at the outskirts of Brindlewood that had shattered his army, though the Northmen had taken heavy casualties and their advance had been stopped indefinitely. His uncle had not gone down alone, however. Lord Umbers son the Smalljon, Lord Bolton, Lord Karstark, Robb's wolf and Theon Greyjoy had fallen by his blade, and the filthy savages were nursing their wounds well beyond Hayford Castle, but still too close for comfort to King's Landing.

His Mother had been despondent at the news, and had locked herself in her room and would not come out, which left the business of ruling to him. It was an incredibly boring task that had Joffrey wishing for his crossbow, but for some reason he could not summon the will to call for it.

The Red Keep had been steadily turning itself into a lonelier place as time went by. The traitorous Hound had abandoned Kings Landing 2 days after the debacle with Lord Stark and the imp was rumored to have gotten his head chopped off at Harrenhall's Heart Tree. Both his brother and sister had boarded a merchant ship headed for Lannisport, away from the fighting a week ago. And now with Jaime dead and his Mother not responding to anything… it was eerily quiet around here.

Even the Imp's sarcastic banter would have been better than the silence… and maybe drive back the increasingly terrifying nightmares he'd been having in his room, atop a ghostly quiet tower.

-.PD.-

His was probably going to die.

Stannis had been disembarking men after men, even more than last time for some reason, and his ships crossed the Blackwatter Rush with impunity, bombarding the cities defenders. With no one else to do it, Joffrey had gotten to the walls to lead the defense, for all the good it had done.

He had run around the walls commanding his men to fight for their King, but it hadn't done much good. Stannis men kept climbing the ladders, and the battering ram had already taken down the Mud gate and there were scattered reports of the defenders breaking and running.

"Where are you going!? Fight! Fight for your King damnit!" Joffrey screeched. No one even looked at him as the men started to run, each time in larger panicked mobs.

Just when everything was ready to go to the hells, a horn sounded in the distance.

Stannis men outside the walls turned around in confusion, and got a face full of Reacher knights on their rear, proudly carrying the Banners from the houses of the Reach, most prominently the Tyrell Rose.

Joffrey was exhausted, but so relieved he almost peed himself.

Yes! Baelish had done it again!

He got down from the walls, knocked around a bit by Stannis men who were fleeing back to their ladders and had lost all cohesion. He finally got off the wall and walked towards the gates, ready to meet the Tyrells like a warrior this time and not like a cowering child like last time. The Reacher knights were going at a full gallop, not even slowing down as they reached the destroyed gates.

Typical Reachers, always trying to steal the glory for their fucking songs, thought Joffrey.

The knights passed the gates. They were not stopping.

With a bellow, they shouted.

"For King Robb!!!"

"The Reach and King Robb!!!"

"Red Wolf! Red Wolf!"

"For Renly!!!"

"For Eddard!!!"

Mixed with the knights of the reach was the Northern army, and it was coming straight to him through the main road, tossing torches towards nearby houses and slaughtering the shattered City Watch.

He madly searched for a horse as the knights steadily got closer. "You! Escort your king to the Red Keep now!" He commanded two red cloaks who were fleeing the Northmen and Reachmen. The two guards looked at each other in disbelief. "Escort you to the Red Keep?! The Red Wolf will kill us all!!!" shouted one of the guards.

Joffrey was going to offer all the gold in the treasury when the other guard, who looked a bit more rational, took a closer look at him.

"The King you say?!" He all but shouted.

"Yes yes! Now, the treasury--"

"Wyll! If we give the King to the Red Wolf maybe we'll be spared!!!" he said.

The other guard suddenly looked at Joffrey considering. "Get him!" he said as they both rushed him.

"Wha—" Joffrey didn't even have time to speak before the two red cloaks grabbed him with their strong arms and beat him senseless with their sword pommels.

-.PD.-

Joffrey's vision slowly cleared as he came back to his senses. He could hear screams in the distance, and the air tasted of… ash…

Joffrey shook his head, but it only made the pain worse. Trying to open his eyes, he saw it was bright everywhere, but the illumination was not coming from the sky, it was coming from all around him. Joffrey tried to shake his head once more before his eyes finally snapped opened.

King's Landing was burning.

He got up, and found out he was in the dais beside the Sept of Baelor. He was surrounded by, must have been a thousand Northmen.

Near him was Lord Baelish, clad in simple armor with his trademark smirk, accompanied by Lady Stark and Loras Tyrell, both looking quite somber, not saying a word. And all looking behind him.

He turned around and found Robb Stark.

He was not the Young Wolf.

The Red Wolf had a strange, almost vacant stare as he seized him up. He was full of ash and covered in blood… and he had a sword in his hand.

A sword he wordlessly tossed at Joffrey's feet. Joffrey slowly took it, taking the guard position the hound had taught him. The Red Wolf extended a hand to his left, and a fierce looking woman in armor came out of the crowd, giving him a one handed mace. "L-l-l-look… m-m-m-my.." Joffrey blabbered as he tried to come up with someone who could help him. His uncle Jaime couldn't threaten anyone, he was dead. His Father the King was dead. His Grandfather was dead. Not even the Imp's poisoned words could help him now, he was dead too.

The Red Wolf however, didn't even seem to be hearing him. He was walking at a sedate pace towards Joffrey, swinging his mace slowly from side to side. Joffrey was utterly terrified.

Despite the Red Wolf's slow strides, he somehow seemed to close the gap in two seconds. Joffrey attacked first, trying to cleave his head in half. Robb parried the blow and head-butted him in the face, sending Joffrey stumbling back as blood freely flowed from his nose.

Robb stopped for a second, and then without a word, continued walking, same pace as before.

Joffrey got up, and swung again, this time to Robb's side. The mace blocked it, and smashed Joffrey's fingers with the counterblow. He dropped the sword as he mewled with pain, stumbling back, trying to get away from the Red Wolf. But Robb kept moving, never saying a word, not taking his terrifying, empty eyes off him. He quickly catched up with Joffrey and swung towards his thigh with unbelievable force. The blow made a loud CRACKas Joffrey tumbled down, crying in pain. He could see his femur sticking out of his leg, and blood was squirting out of it like a fountain. Before he could even think what to say, Robb swung again, breaking his left arm, and again, exploding his right hand as he sought to shove Robb away. The burning Sept of Baelor cast an otherworldly shadow as the Red Wolf tilted his head down, looking straight at him…

"He—… traitor—" CRACK, "I'm so--" CRACK "--plea--" CRACK. Joffrey's speech got more incoherent each time the machine like arm of Robb Stark descended with its mace, each time striking a different place. A dozen cracks later Joffry was a bloody heap on the floor, his mouth a bloody ruin. He couldn't speak anymore, his teeth had been crushed.

Still the Red Wolf said nothing. He kneeled down over Joffrey, and grabbed his throat with both hands. He squeezed and squeezed with unrelenting force, his lifeless eyes never leaving Joffrey's.

Joffrey struggled in vain, trying to get away from those eyes but every time he tried the Red Wolf would turn Joffrey's neck and face him again. All while he kept squeezing.

He squeezed and squeezed and soon the Red Wolf's eyes and everything else turned purple as his throat continued to be throttled, even as his windpipe shattered again and again and a sour pain filled every nerve in his body.


	4. INTERLUDE 1

Interlude I: The Prince's Condition.

The Hound had been guarding Prince Joffrey's bedchamber like a gods damned stool for several hours now. He walked a couple of circles in front of Joffrey's door, shaking his stiff muscles, and popped his head over the nearby window.

Aye, must be midday already. The little shit sure's taking his time getting ready, thought Clegane. Though it did bother him that the prince had called no servants to aid him with his clothes. He swore the little shit was incapable of tying his own breeches.

Must have overslept, the Queen will not be too happy with me If I just leave him in there.

Making up his mind, the Hound knocked the door.

When nothing happened he knocked harder. "Prince Joffrey, its getting late and the family will be dining soon!" he said as he tried to suppress a sight. Sometimes his job wisent too much different than a nanny or a septa…

Still no answer.

Bastard must still be asleep.

He opened the door (fortunately Joffrey had not locked it) only to find the Prince still in bed, looking at him. Why haven't he just answered? Thought the hound, exasperated.

Suppressing a scowl, the Hound tried his best to sound entreating. It was really the best to do if the prince was in a sulking mood and you wanted him to cooperate. "Come on Prince Joffrey, its almost bloody midday, you must be starving." He said. There, that ought a do it. The little shit hadn't eaten last night, after all, he must be starving.

Joffrey didn't even twitch. His eyes were fixed on a grey spot on the wall, which contained nothing out of the ordinary to Clegane's eyes. "Prince Joffrey… My Prince…? Joffrey SNAP OUT OF IT!" The Hound almost yelled the last one, out of patience as he snapped his fingers a meter off Joffreys face. With the loud snap of his fingers he finally got a reaction.

Joffrey seemed to rock back slightly as he turned his eyes to Sandor. It was then Clegane discovered this was no usual sulking. Joffrey's eyes didn't focus on the Hound, they seemed to stare a mile beyond him. Joffrey blinked slowly, as if only just now recognizing the Hound.

He blinked a few more times. Finally, he whispered "Go away" in a weak tone as he slowly turned the other way and cuddled under his sheets.

"…Prince Joffrey?" asked the Hound, now confused. It made him remember… bad times. It made him remember the empty stares of the smallfolk villagers that had been brutalized by his brother… the Mountain.

Whatever the reason, he'd better tell the royal family sooner rather than later, so as to not be dragged into the whole affair…

-.PD.-

I can hope ,can't I? The hound thought morosely.

"What do you mean he won't join us, Clegane?" Asked Cercei, her tone frosty. Pretentious bitch, thought Sandor as he kept a straight face. Not that Robert would be bothered about it, in fact he'd probably laugh out loud and maybe even reward him if he said it out loud. No, it was his liege lord Tywin Lannister that restrained Sandor's behavior.

The King didn't seem to care, his meal had started an hour ago with strong ales and was now devouring the pork with such primal joyfulness it made the Hound a little envious. "It appears the prince is not feeling so well." Said Sandor shrugging his big shoulders, not an easy fit in armor.

The Prince's siblings appeared to have taken the news with relief and more than a bit of happiness. They were now talking amongst each other and laughing at this or that.

Suddenly the King stopped chewing through one of his pork chops, and stared at Clegane. Sandor stiffened with attention, even well past his prime King Robert could project obedience when he wanted to… Not that that happened often. "You think he's still sulking because of the North?!" Asked Robert, dangerously. Even though he still hadn't swallowed some of the pork chop on his mouth, Sandor thought he still looked dangerous. "I really don't know, Your Majesty." Said Sandor, warily.

"We can't have that, not after yesterday." Said the king as he washed down the last of the pork chop with ale, and stood up. He scoffed at Cercei's warning glare, "Seven Hells woman, I'm not going to strike him. I'll just shake his lazy bum." He said as he strode out of the small dining room, gesturing at Sandor to follow him. "Might as well learn how to do it!" he joked as he slapped Sandor on the back. He could feel the blow even past the partial plate that protected his back.

They quickly made it to his room, but the door was already open. They entered and found various servants, cleaning and servicing the room, though keeping well aware of the bed. In it, Joffrey was snuggled in a fetus position, his hands under his armpits. His frame was remarkably immobile, except from the small, low intensity shiver attacks he would suffer randomly.

"Well, what's going on?!" Boomed the King. The servants all stopped what they were doing and kneeled. "Your Majesty, we just found him like this, and he didn't object to us carrying out our duties as normal" Said the oldest of them, eyes firmly on the floor. The King nodded "Aye, you seem to be doing a good job of it." He gazed as Joffrey's form, again stuck looking another spot on the wall, this time in the corner.

"If this is about not going to the North again your mother won't protect you, boy." He said as he stood in front of Joffrey. "Joffrey… JOFFREY!" He bellowed at close range. The boy hadn't even noticed, he was staring at the spot on the wall, muttering something under his breath. "…not the … no… no…." He mumbled. For the first time since Sandor knew him, the King looked somewhat worried, eying Joffrey. "Son?" he asked softly. Whereas Robert's bellow didn't have any effect, this soft whisper seemed to rock Joffrey, he seemed to start shaking and clutched his father's arm like a limpet. "Please… don't let him…" he whispered weakly. A few minutes passed as Robert awkwardly petted Joffrey's hair, and soon he was asleep.

-.PD.-

"It seems an indigestion coupled with fever, most likely, your grace. In fact--" Pycell droned on, babbling about the Prince's supposed Illness. Sandor promptly ignored him, and it seemed Robert had too. He grabbed the hound by the shoulder as he guided him a few meters back, leaving only the Queen listening with rapt attention and anxiousness to the Grand Maester.

"A fever… bollocks!" Snapped the King. "I've seen that look before, and it was not because of an 'indigestion'" he snorted indignantly. The hound nodded for him to go on. He didn't know why the King was telling him this, but he guessed he needed someone to talk about this. Prince Joffrey's… condition was oddly unsettling, something the Hound suspected should not be seen in children.

"I saw it after the Battle at the Trident, whole packs of men wandering about without their wits, looking at something as if it were leagues away, or staring at their bloodied hands in confusion. I don't like this Clegane, not one bit." He said, shaking his head.

Clegane stood silent, wondering. Could some Targeryen loyalist have gotten to the prince between last night and today?

He didn't think so.

-.PD.-

Anyone would have been pretty traumatized after the last loop, but with Joffrey's weak psyche... well, something was bound to break. Dont worrythough, I'm sure he'll recover in time for more interesting developments... mostly anyway.


	5. CHAPTER 4

Chapter 4: An Offering.

The purple kept twisting and twisting… is it never going to end? Thought Joffrey, seeing the Red Wolf's eyes as they glowed through the purple. He tossed and turned, until it was warm again.

Warmth…

He thought he'd never feel it after… --

Those eyes… he felt the rhythmic hammering of the war mace striking his body again and again.

He shivered again as he grasped his bed sheets closer, trying to repulse the cold invaded his body again, seeping like the chill at Baelor's Sept. Had it been raining? He thought it had. Or he could have been confused… the rhythmic pounding of rain bore a strange resemblance with-- Crack… Crack… Crack… He shivered again, and he thought he could feel the pounding starting again. It was strange, hadn't he died? He was safe wasn't he?!

He was not sure… Joffrey thought he could hear the Red Wolf prowling nearby… ready to—

"JOFFREY!" Snapped the hound. He rocked back, trying to shield himself with a sword that wasn't there.

Of course… I'm in my chambers. Joffrey was mildly relieved at that, he was safe now… right?

"Go away" He told the hound. He was not sure, better to stay here in the warmth, better to be safe than sorry. He retracted himself below the sheets, sheltering below their confortable weight.

It wasn't enough though. The shakes kept coming each time he remembered… each time he.. Those vacant eyes… gods please make him stop… CRACK. Gods please no- CRACK gods pleaseCRACKhelpCRACKnoCRACKnoCRACK--

"Son?" Said a sudden voice. It was his Father. Father… He'd protect him!!!

He struggled to move his limbs, which felt oddly heavy, and grasped him with all his might. "Please make him stop Father, please make him stop!" He tried to say, but he wasn't too sure of what came out of his mouth… and the shakes were coming again.

-.PD.-

Joffrey didn't know how much time had elapsed in this life. His perception about it seemed to alter depending on the day. His routine though remained fairly constant. His Mother would help him eat his breakfast, after which the servants would clean his body, slowly as any sudden movement would make him screech in terror. The hound would then take him to the Red Keep's topmost tower on the Grand Maester's orders, so he could benefit from the fresh air. He was not too much time up there though, he tried to hold as long as he could but sooner or later he was back in his room, covered up in his bed. Some afternoons he would go back out at, strangely, his Uncle Jaime's behest. They would talk as they walked through the battlements… well, Jaime talked, he just bobbed his head, glad that his voice was drowning the sound of King's Landing burning to ash. Night was both his favorite and most terrifying time. He would lay on his bed, getting more agitated by the minute, anxiously waiting…

Until she finally arrived. His Mother would pet his head and sing him meaningless songs, cuddled safe with him under the bed sheets… it was the only way he could sleep.

As the days and months passed by, Joffrey liked his new existence. Things had been… complicated before… painful. It was in this state of safety that reality came crashing back.

His Mother was here again. She didn't have to help him eat any more, Joffrey was capable of that now. It had been somewhat shameful now that he thought about it, not being able to eat one's own supper… Still, he appreciated it when she still came, it made him feel more… focused, he guessed.

"Joffrey, my son, I need you to get dressed now." She said as several, nervous looking servants entered and starting clothing him with his princely robes. Joffrey started breathing a bit more rapidly. "Mother… W-What's going on?" He asked her.

She smiled as she touched his head. "Just some courtly business, we have to pass sentence on some criminals now, you see Joffrey?" She told him gently. Joffrey nodded dumbly as the Hound escorted him to a carriage by the Red Keep's gate. He started to shake again as they departed through the crowded streets of King's Landing. He hadn't left the red Keep in… Years, he was sure of it.

As they came to a stop, the Hound escorted him up the steps to the… dais above the plaza, right in front of Baelor's Sept. Where Eddard Stark lied kneeling and chained. Oh no, it's happening again.

He wanted to scream, run away, but his traitorous legs and the Hound's firm grip kept him going towards the makeshift throne.

Everyone was there. The small council, the guards, his mother. Even Sansa and… Bran Stark?! That shook him out of his cloud like trance, grounding him back to Planetos.

The crowd was booing as Eddard Stark confessed his treason. "—usurp the throne from my rightful King—" Stark said as Joffrey franticly shook his head. What had happened last time?! His memory was sluggish and slow, but he remembered. Lord Stark's death… the disaster at the Green Ford… the Red Wolf… Crack.

"In the name of King Joffrey, first of his name--" His mother was passing Lord Stark's sentence! He jumped out of his throne. By the seven he had to stop this, lest the abomination get close to him again and King's Landing burn to ash once more. "L-lord E-e-eddard Stark…" What to say what to say! Gods, couldn't the traitorous bastard and his ilk just stay away?!!?

That's it!

"B-by the l-love my F-father held for y-you…" He could feel his guts twitching at the thought of what he was about to do. Anything to get away from the Red Wolf.

"… I banish y-you and your family to the North, n-never to return again in y-y-y-your l-l-l-life" –he finished lamely. His mother was already making his way to him, gesturing at the Red Cloaks to stop Lord Stark. The sight of his mother shamelessly countermanding his orders in plain sight brought a bit of his older self back, filled with wrath. "O-obey your K-king! Release Lord Stark and his f-family immediately!" He ordered. His startled guards obeyed their King, and Cercei was silent, lest the people see their King ordered about.

Sansa cried with joy as she hugged a befuddled Lord Stark, Bran close behind, glaring at the Lannisters and trying to hold back tears. As a bewildered Lord Stark made its way through the booing smallfolk crowd, a small grey thing jumped him from the side. Eddard too started crying as he recognized the youngest Stark girl. Right, that was the one that almost killed me. He thought.

"Hound, you are to make sure all the Starks leave King's Landing and return North safely. Your King commands you!" he told him. The hound nodded warily, leaping out of the dais and following the Starks. That way the smallfolk or anybody else wouldn't get any ideas.

As everyone else made its way back to the Red Keep, he spotted his mother and his uncle speaking in hushed tones. He couldn't hear them, but the familiar sight gave him chills. Hope the fucking Starks stay in the North… as much as they deserve to die, its better this way.

Yes, let his family mutter all they want. They didn't know it but he'd just saved them from the Red Wolf.

-.PD.-

The next weeks Joffrey slowly came back to his older self. He even started to hold court occasionally, as boring and useless as that was. Still, there were fun moments. Like now for example, with this bard… what was his name? He didn't care anyway. The one that had jested about his Father and Mother, this time when he ended his performance he didn't give him the choice between his hands and his tongue, he just ordered Ser Illyn to take to cut off his right hand. Served him right… He chuckled at the pun as they carried away his broken form.

He almost missed tormenting Sansa, but even the thought of her brought bad, Red flashbacks, so maybe it was all to the good.

His grandfather Tywin had arrived and subsequently departed from King's Landing last week. He was going to shred whichever of his traitorous Baratheon uncles survived the other one this time. He'd barely stopped by the Red Keep, but that hadn't stopped his Grandfather from berating himlike he was some unruly child. The mere thought of that meeting threatened to bring that sadistic rage back.

He had made him, his King, come to his new solar in the tower of the Hand, and he'd had the temerity to scold him!

"Joffrey" he said as he somehow laid back on his chair but still managed to maintain a ramrod straight back. "I understand that you've had some difficult days even before your father died, but what you did to the Starks was utter idiocy." He said, his expression unmoving, impossible to determine. "I understand exiling Lord Stark, but your soft feelings lost us not only your betrothed, but two other valuable hostages. What if Lord Stark decides to march back south, but this time with an army down Moat Cailin?" His tone of voice had not changed throughout the whole thing, yet Joffrey could feel the disappointed frustration in waves as if it were a physical thing. "Grandfather--" he started, but Tywin had interrupted him as if he were nothing. "Your excuses don't matter to me. Kevan is assembling another host at the Golden Tooth while I deal with the Baratheons here in the south. If the Starks move he'll blockade the river crossings and buy time while I come back from the Stormlands."

Joffrey had shooked with rage at this, he wanted to shout at the old bastard that he was the only reason he was not being drowned at the Green Fork at this very moment… but… this was where a revelation had hit Joffrey. He was scared of his Grandfather. The Lannister Patriarch seemed immune to his threats and commands, he seemed to dare him to order him incarcerated or harmed, and he was always so godsdamned confident and invulnerable. Intellectually, Joffrey knew that was not true. The bloated, drowned body on the Green Fork confirmed otherwise. But still…

In the end, he said nothing, troubled by the bubbling thoughts that surrounded him as Tywin basically told him to behave and leave the tough choices to him. Besides… Tywin had been right, Joffrey recognized. There was no reason they couldn't have kept the Stark girls or the boy. In his other life it had been the torture of Lord Stark and the death of both his daughters that had unleashed the Red Wolf. Even in another life, the Red Wolf had got to him.

Tywin departed to the Stormlands the next day, at the head of the Westerland's Might.

His recovery was not complete anyway, and his sleep was always troubled. Sometimes the servants would find him shaking or staring off into the abyss at random times, in hallways or even sometimes in the Iron throne itself, though no one was foolish enough to speak about it. Still, he often found himself remembering his last life before it went to the hells. He remembered Lord Starks look when he had been finishing his torture, cutting his chest out for the last few times. He had been nearly dead, and Joffrey was not sure if Lord Stark had been all there anymore, then he'd said it.

"There's… something… deeply wrong with you… Joffrey" He had said it as if it were a basic fact, something obvious and immutable. He didn't know why the statement had caused such a reaction, but he had rabidly stabbed Lord Stark… must have been a dozen times. He had died then… it had probably been the purpose behind that statement, to make him loose control and finally kill him.

Yes, that must have been it…

-.PD.-

Joffrey shot another bolt at Pycell.

He was already on his knees but he took on the chest all the same, knocking him on his back and landing on the Throne room's floor. Why… why must everything go wrong!!!

He shouted in rage as he sat back on the Iron Throne, tossing the crossbow at the floor. I shouldn't have done that, he was just the messenger. He shook his head as the belated thought reached him. The assembled courtiers were silent as he shouted at them. "OUT! EVERYBODY OUT!" He screamed.

They filled out as mother gave him a guarded look and told the redcloaks to take Pycell's body out. Not so invincible now are you Tywin! The thought should had pleased him, but in the present circumstances…

The Crownland-reinforced Westerlands army had fallen like a pride of Lions amongst Renly's summer knights. Tywin had bloodied and fought them back all the way to Storm's End… and total victory had been at hand.

Things had apparently turned 5 days ago. Stannis had arrived on his fleet and disembarked behind the Lannister army, but that hadn't been what broke them. No. His Grandfathers assassination had done that.

They said Stannis had turned into a smoke demon and had stabbed Tywin right through the heart… Witless idiots! How could they believe such things!!! Joffrey thought despairingly as he hit the iron throne, nicking him and spilling blood. He was about to call the Maester when he remembered what he had done to him.

There's something deeply wrong with you, Joffrey.

He shook the errant thought out of his head.

No matter. Stannis had attacked from the rear as the Lannister army had fallen to chaos, and then Renly had hit from the front…

They had been decimated. That night, after the celebration someone had apparently done Stannis a favor and assassinated Renly. Dawn found him in his bed, stabbed. And so Stannis was leading his now combined army directly towards King's Landing, not stopping for anything.

Joffrey got out of his Throne and wrapped a Lannister cloak around his wound. He didn't even care. What had he done wrong this time?!

He stood out into the courtyard and saw his uncle Jaime departing with a handful of Redcloaks, speeding towards the rest of the Crownlands to gather what reinforcements he could. It was all he was going to get. The damned imp had said that if Stannis decided to storm the city, Kevan's reinforcing army would not make it in time.

Just his luck.

-.PD.-

Stannis apparently knew what he was doing. That much, Joffrey knew. The imp had talked him through as Stannis gradually took control of the city, first taking the gates, then shoving his cavalry through it (the Tyrells, ironically) and encircling pockets of defenders. Joffrey had to admit, the imp had excellent commentary, if only to take his mind off the whole thing and not shit his pants. Joffrey suspected the imp himself did it out of the same reason. His head would end up on a pike, same as his if Stannis won. And he was winning. The imp had taken Joffrey back to the Red Keep once two of the gates had fallen… or well, he had tried. They were in one of those pockets that had been surrounded by the Tyrell cavalry.

As Joffrey took his arming sword in a death grip, the imp gave him a jaunty salute. "Stannis seems ready to fuck us hard, friends!" He shouted, looking back at the assorted, terrified mix of Goldcloaks, Redcloaks and Crownlanders that were in the pocket with them. "Still, to my shame I've never seen a whorehouse giving out free fucks!" He said as he put on his helmet and got a strangled laugh out of the soldiers.

"Let's make em work for it!" He shouted as he charged… the imp charged the cavalry with his battleaxe. The men let out a wary but defiant roar as they charged along with him, dragging Joffrey with them. At that moment he felt a bit of grudging respect for the imp… and a bit of envy at his sheer bravery.

"They say I'm half a man, then what does that make you?!" They said he had shouted in his first life when he rallied the fleeing Goldcloaks.

Fuck him, the traitorous imp wasn't going to be braver than him. Not in this life. Fuck.That.

He shouted as he charged, now under his own power, trying to catch up to Tyrion. They crashed against the Tyrell blocking force with a vengeance, unseating them from their horses as both formations merged.

His mind, well, the small part of his mind that wasn't mad with fear, briefly imagined himself battling through his foes, killing droves before finding the commander of the unit and killing him in single combat…

Not that he really thought that would happen. His previous lives had taught him a tiny bit of realism. Even with all the progress he had made under the Hound, Joffrey and his trusty arming sword found themselves throughout most of the skirmish fighting against a single dismounted Tyrell soldier. He looks young, thought a distant part of his mind as he parried, attacked and made sweeping ripostes. Joffrey didn't know how much time he battled with the bastard, but after what must have been ages, he managed to sink in his sword through his belly, and take it out. The Tyrell soldier seemed to look at Joffrey's bloodied sword in confusion before collapsing into the floor. Joffrey would have followed him down if he hadn't been filled with bitter achievement.

He was panting, dead tired, had numerous cuts and a huge slash on his thigh that just kept bleeding. All around him his men were dying, but they were taking some of the Tyrell's down with them.

He limped aimlessly for a few seconds before stumbling over something. To his surprise, it was the imp. He had a spear protruding from his chest, and seemed to be breathing haltingly. "Uncle" Said Joffrey as he sat beside him, the sound of men dying all around them. "Nephew… do my eyes… deceive me… or did you… just kill… a man… actually in defense… of the realm" the imp asked him, haltingly, in between rasping breaths. "I think I did uncle…" Said Joffrey distracted, the bleeding on his leg was slowing down. The Imp gave a rasping chuckle, "Mayhaps… after all… we can… make… a full Lannister… between ourselves." he said. The imp managed to get out a snorting laugh from Joffrey. He was going to berate the imp, but when he turned to face him again his eyes layed fixed, unmoving.

Japing to his death. A fitting death for the imp… not a bad one too. He tried to make a jape too, but he lost consciousness before he could think of one. He didn't think it would have amused the purple anyway.

-.PD.-

Oddly enough, he didn't feel the shattering agony that was the Metaphysical Strangler, instead, it was just a dull ache all throughout his body. I'm going to rest for a fucking week. Promised Joffrey as he opened his eyes.

This was not his room.

This was Baelor's plaza.

It had to be a nightmare… It had to be.

He tried to move, he couldn't. He was tied to a… pole? He struggled to get out of his bindings as men left stacks of hay and wood all around him. What the fucks going on?!

A beautiful woman in a red dress seemed to lightly sway as she made her way through the wood. She carefully touched Joffrey's cheek as she turned around to face someone behind her… Stannis.

"Stannis!! You fucking traitor!" Joffrey growled as he tried to get out of his binds. They didn't seem to be listening to him. Stannis was grinding his teeth, mulling about something the red woman had just said.

"Didn't the Red God give you Renly, Stannis? Didn't he give you Tywin? Didn't he give you this city for you to take with your armies?" she said seductively as she slowly let her hands travel down his chest, touching only armor… for the moment. "A bastard he may be, but he still holds the blood of kings" she whispered to his ear. "Imagine what I could do with the blood of the Kings of the Rock." She said, eying Joffrey almost with hunger.

Had she… What was she… wh—

Stannis seemed to come to a decision, he turned to face him, and projected his voice to carry. All the men around the plaza seem to grow quiet as he spoke. "Joffrey Waters, for the crimes of being an impostor and a traitor, I, Stannis of House Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rohynar and the First Men, King of the Seven kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, sentence you to die." He said as he turned and walked away, back to his men.

At last, the realization hit Joffrey.

They intend to burn me.

One of the men tossed a torch to the pile, and a roaring bonfire was soon underway. Not like this prayed Joffrey to any god that could hear him. Please not like this.

His screams echoed throughout Baelor's plaza before the purple consumed him.


	6. CHAPTER 5

Chapter 5: Retracing Your Steps.

Joffrey awoke as he thrashed along his bed, getting tangled on his bed sheets and rolling out into the floor. His muffled screaming brought the Hound crashing through the door and jumping on top of Joffrey with a dagger, trying to disentangle him from the bed sheets and his would be killer. "What the…" muttered Clegane as he slapped the screaming Joffrey hard, enough for him to focus on the Hound.

As Joffrey took stock of his surroundings, he looked at his hands, slowly flexing them back and forth. "Thank you, Hound…" he whispered as he got up and sat on his bed, touching his now unblemished skin.

He remembered as the searing agony of burning flesh gave way to the familiar torment of the purple.

Everything goes so wrong no matter what I do…

Perhaps that's what I'm doing wrong, moving out of the travelled path.

Joffrey nodded to himself as the Hound gave him a wary look. Better do everything exactly as last time… every other path leads to certain death… and the purple.

He shivered at that last thought. The purple didn't seem to get any bearable every time he died, in fact, Joffrey could swear it was sometimes worse. It pained him not to take action against confirmed traitors, but by now, there were few things Joffrey would have preferred to the godsdamned purple.

-.PD.-

The next days followed the course of his first life, something Joffrey was increasingly calling a 'standard course' on his head. It seemed, for now, the only way to keeps things relatively stable for Joffrey and avoid releasing all seven hells of pain upon him. Westeros was slowly looking more and more like a deathtrap, were any false step could end in oh so painful death and an even worse metaphysical damnation after that. He would sometimes wonder how the hell he had made it as far as he did in his first life. Maybe that one had been the outlier, and the rest were the normal ones? That chain of thought threatened Joffrey's sanity (as little as that remained), so he decided not to think too much about it.

Deciding not to make any big changes around, the trip north went mainly as standard, excepting two details. The first one was arms training. In his last life he hadn't been defeated exactly, but it had been a humiliating battle by any means. A King being held up for the entire fight by a single Tyrell soldier was simply unacceptable, besides, to make matters worse the wounds the soldier had inflicted on Joffrey before his death had likely been fatal… had they not burned him later anyway…

Joffrey shivered at the memory of the flames licking his skin as they got closer and closer…

So he had taken arms training with the Hound again, and was making slow progress yet again, now lasting about 4 parries in a supposedly 'all out' battle with the Hound, though Joffrey severely doubted the Hound fought him at his max in those sessions. Not that he complained, even using the whole ensemble of padded armor Joffrey still ended up feeling like shit and sore all over.

The other thing he did was hold the occasional conversation with his traitorous uncle Tyrion. His older self would have been surprised and horrified, probably. Still, after having fought with him at the Fall of King's Landing (well, rather the second Fall of King's Landing, Tyrion had apparently gotten his head chopped off at Harrnehall's heart tree by the Red Wolf before the first fall, so he hadn't been there when…. Crack… Crack… Crack…)

"Nephew?" asked his uncle, confused. Joffrey suddenly realized he was staring again at the tent's side, and quickly shook his head. "Never mind that, you were telling me about the voyages beyond the Jade Sea?" he told him. The imp looked a bit curious for a bit, well, more curious than he had been before, but quickly kept talking about the explorers beyond the Jade Sea and how few if any survived the terrible monsters and diseases that prowled the end of the known world. The imp told surprisingly interesting and entertaining tales, both informative and fun, if you took the time to listen to him. Something that struck him quite hard as he tried to… merge the two different understanding he had about his uncle.

The sheer bravery he had displayed, how he had talked to him and kept him calm through Stannis's attack. Those things had bothered Joffrey, so he had decided to get to know his uncle and would be murderer better. Instead, it had only deepened Joffrey's questions. If he didn't lambast and torment the imp and just sat and listened, Joffrey found out he had indeed a lot to say just about everything. Maybe the imp had been a Grand Maester in another life of his own?

It only made his transformation from laid back, witty intellectual uncle to would be murderer and regicide that much more troubling. Joffrey had not made the imp dislike him that much… had he?

There's something deeply wrong with you, Joffrey.

He ignored Eddard Stark's voice once more.

-.PD.-

He mostly spent his time in Winterfell on a repeat of past events, though it was surprisingly difficult. The consistent sneering and whining of his first life was a constant and fatiguing drain. After having been strangled multiple times, disemboweled by a sword, had every bone on his body shattered and then strangled again only to be burnt alive and strangled by some cosmic entity yet again… some things he just didn't feel were worth the effort. Still, to change the path meant certain death, so he soldiered on. He whined about using real swords to Ser Rodrik and Bran Stark yet again, though he did feel a bit of a hypocrite. He actually preferred his bouts with practice swords and fully armored in padded training armor. To train without them would leave Joffrey a swollen, suffering blob. And to do it with live steel was just… idiotic.

Bran Stark fell from the Broken Tower like always, and Joffrey guessed he'd had to send that assassin to try to kill him (and fail) again… though the justification for that blunder seemed awfully stupid in hindsight… he had been angry at Bran for… showing off…?

If he lived past his wedding this time, he would be sure to save his assassins for more pressing threats this time, Starks or not. Still, he was glad when they left Winterfell. Joffrey figured that he had killed or been killed by more than half of the Starks… the whole lot of them were better off in their snowy hell. Sadly they still took the two girls south, and he had to again stumble upon Arya, torment a no name smallfolk kid, and be attacked in kind by the oversized wolf.

-.PD

Events played out, weeks went by… and Stark made his move. In hindsight it was telling how choreographed the whole thing had been. The escalating tensions, dueling with his uncle Jaime on the streets, the death of his Father while hunting… it was eerily, as if events had been guided just right to plunge his kingdoms into chaos and war… Though he knew that was just an illusion. One wrong choice could (and had) spiral the whole thing out of control and he could end up beaten to death by a psychotic wolf or used as fuel for a pretty bonfire. Again, best not to risk it.

He was assaulted by almost a kind of… apathy? Everyone was dancing to the tune of destiny, and only he had the keys to change it. It should have made him feel as powerful as a god, but after all that had happened he just felt a crushing anxiety when he thought just how wrong things could go.

As Stark entered the room followed by his retainers and Goldcloaks, Joffrey tried to remember what he had said.

Everyone was solemnly staring at each other, hands on the pommels or spear shafts, slowly spreading their feet apart, ready for a sudden outbreak of violence… and Joffrey cursed.

"Kneel before your King, Lord Stark, and you will be able to return to your lands in the North in peace." Said her Mother dangerously.

"I wish to be crowned in…" Damnit, had it been a fortnight or a week? Think damnit.

Stark and his mother looked at him as he mulled it in his head.

Fuuuuuck… it hadn't been a month… right…? No, I'm sure…

More and more faces turned his way as he scrounged his head in concentration. Nothing would go to hell if he just said the words wrong… right?

Crack… Crack…Crack

Stark was looking a bit nonplussed as Joffrey scrounged his head in intense concentration, and Ser Barristan looked behind him to see if he was okay.

"mmmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa fuck it. A week." He said, at last.

The long pause had kind of chilled the tension on the room, and the soldiers looked at each other ankwardly.

Joffrey scratched his head. "I want to be crowned in a week?" He kind of asked, only to shake his head. "Argh! Damnit! It was a fortnight! Yeah, a fortnight!" he said. Stark looked at him strangely as he struggled to say his piece.

"Well… get on with it!" urged Joffrey. He hadn't messed up… had…he?

Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

Stark seemed to shake his head as he got a parchment out of his pocket. "Ser Barristan, no one in this room could doubt that you are a man of honor" he said as he handed him the letter.

Yeeeeeeeeeeees!

The Stark retainers died en mass as Joffrey sagged in relief on his Throne.

-.PD.-

Joffrey had to contain himself not to jump into a dance and song as he walked aimlessly throughout the lower reaches of the Red Keep. All good for now! And with a bit of luck the other houses of Westeros will follow their path and all will be as it should be, he thought as he kept walking past a rusted off flood gate near the tower of the Hand.

There was suddenly movement behind him. In a blink, hard taught reflexes (mainly the desire not to end up stabbed in the back in the Battles of the Blackwater or the Falls of King's Landing) made him turn around as he unsheathed his trusty arming sword.

Behind him, the red, tear streaked face of Arya Stark eyed him in desperation, clutching some kind of short rapier… that was covered in blood.

Fuck you… fate?

Now all was going to go off the fucking rails.

"I saw nothing if you saw nothing!" he told her as he took a step back, moving his hands in a pacifying manner. Please just go please just go please just go.

Arya seemed to take a step back… and then plunged right into Joffrey with a cat like scream.

"Footwork" the Hound roared inside his head as Joffrey started parrying blows.

Oh Shit… Parry… If she died would the… Parry… Red Wolf come calling… Parry…

Somehow, the last parry ended up with Joffrey batting her sword aside and punching her with all his strength in the face… a favorite move by the Hound. She sailed sideways and smashed her head on a pole, falling to the ground unconscious.

Well… I'm truly fucked now.

He tried to feel a pulse as the godsdamned imp of all people had showed him. She was alive. In the Red Keep. Another bargaining chip in the completely incompetent hands of his family… They would sure find some absolutely important use for her in some way…

They wouldn't screw up yet again, would they?

I'm so dead, whispered a voice in Joffrey's head.

-.PD.-

Joffrey paced back and forth in one of the shady, damp caves that dotted the Red Keep. You'd think the Targeryans would have plugged all the holes in their master fortress, he thought irreverently.

He paced and he paced and he paced. "FUCK!... SHIT!... TITS!" he said that last one channeling the imp.

The grey mound in front of him shuffled as it moaned. A scraggly, dirty head popped out of it as she took stock of all the ropes tied around her.

"You!" he said as he wheeled back to Arya. "Have you any idea what you've done! No?! Would you like getting used as kindling for Stannis's coronation ceremony's fire show?!" he shouted, channeling a somewhat budding sarcasm Joffrey had had absolutely no idea he possessed.

"…uha?" Said Arya, eloquently. "Or maybe you'd like to be used as a nail holder while you get hammered like a fucking plank!" he screamed at her as he sat opposite, breathing hard.

"uhm" grunted Arya, shuffling, probably trying to get out of the bindings.

"Look you dumb Stark bitch! This is how it's going to work! I'm going to cut you free, and you are going to do exactly what you were thinking about doing before you found me… okay?!"He said, well, more like begged.

"What… I was going to do?" She asked lamely, shaking her head in confusion.

"Yes! What you … you do remember what you were going to do, right?" asked Joffrey.

"I-I just wanted to escape!" she said, glaring fiercely at him.

He had changed things, if he just let her go now she could be captured before she leaves the Red Keep.

Oh gods…

-.PD.-

The covered wagon creaked its way to the Red Keeps inner gate. "Hold!" Shouted one of the Red Cloaks as he stopped the horses and walked to the handler's seat. "By order of the Queen Mother all traffic-- Your Grace?!" he asked, gobsmacked.

"Let me pass in the name of your King…" ordered Joffrey from the driver's seat, shaking his head.

"K-King –Joffrey! I hadn't recognized you! Open the gates at once!" shouted the guard.

Joffrey just shook his head again and sighted.

-.PD.-

I never actually learned how to handle a wagon. That particularly useful thought struck Joffrey as the wagon rumbled through King's Landing, the horses completely out of control.

If I die here, I fear the shame will be so big I won't wake up again. He thought flippantly as vegetable vendors scrambled out of the way and the carriage crashed right into a fish stand.

As fate would have it, Joffrey didn't die, he was merely propelled forward and stamped against a nearby house's wall.

A group of angry smallfolks gathered around the carriage as Joffrey got up from the foor, nursing a broken arm that dangled uselessly. He stumbled his way to the back of the carriage. "Look, you can keep the horses, just SHUT UP!" he screamed at the fish stand's owner. He should have skewered him instead like one of his fish, but if his first life had taught him anything was that smallfolks were always three insults and a sword blow away from a riot. He didn't want a riot right now, thank you very much.

He opened the back door of the carriage with his good hand and cut out Arya's ropes with her own sword. "Just do… what you think you should do…" Said Joffrey lamely as he tossed her the rapier and took a wary step back. Arya was looking dumbly at him "Why?" she simply said, a strange mix of gratitude and bewilderment. Her expression made Joffrey feel oddly proud of himself.

"Just go" he said as he walked away. It felt good to be appreciated for once…

Then he remembered what he needed to do to Lord Stark.

He sighted then. She won't be nearly as pleased when I chop off his head…

Though Joffrey thought he would be. The blood that would come off the traitors head—

"There's something deeply wrong with you, Joffrey" Whispered a moribund Lord Stark in his head. He shook the thought away.

-.PD.-

The same guard straightened as he opened the Red Keep's gate… and nearly closed it from horror as he saw his King.

"Your Gra--?"

"Not. A. Word." Said Joffrey as he limped past the gate, holding his useless arm and being generally miserable.

This better be worth it. If it all goes to shit again I don't know what I'll do…

-.PD.-

Everyone was silent as the people awaited the verdict of their King. The shocking revelation, the treason of the late Kings best friend was incredible…

Joffrey shuffled, nursing his now tied up arm, trying to take in his chair's shade, and failing. The day was hot and Joffrey was silently smoldering in the midday heat.

Everybody was staring at him. Oh, right, my part.

"The King's justice…" He started… What had he said exactly…?

Not this shit again.

He sighted, tired. I just want to lay down…

"The justice… ah damn it. Ser Illyn, take his head." He ordered. He covered his ears in annoyance as Sansa screamed and fainted as Lord Stark's head was cut off and his mother nattered as she tried to rush Lord Stark to stop the inevitable.

Joffrey felt…

Tired.

"Let's go Hound." He said as he stood up, heading to his horse.

-.PD.-

Joffrey anxiously followed the Raven correspondence throughout the "War of the Five Kings" as it had been called shortly before he died in his first life. When Stannis came a knocking, Joffrey felt, for the first time, shame for his actions. When the runner arrived from the Red Keep, telling him his mother had sent for him, Joffrey struggled with what to do. "Joffrey, If you won't fight for them, why should they fight for you?!" Exclaimed the Imp, gesticulating to the watching soldiers everywhere as wildfire explosions echoed through the city and the harbor.

He didn't care that much for the soldiers… but he didn't want to be seen as a coward. What happened last time… had been awkward and shameful for the King of the Realm, being incapable of defending his own capital. But the alternative meant forging a new path… and that had consequences.

The fire consumed his body like it was firewood, eagerly leaping to his face--

No, never again!

"I… I'm sorry uncle" He said, surprised he actually meant it. "Ser Boros, Ser Meryn, you will represent the King in battle… Good luck." He said as he step down the stairs. He felt the soldier's stares on his back as he moved with the runner back towards the Red Keep. He wanted to shout at them that this was the only path! He wanted to make them suffer for making him feel this way!

I have to. It's the only way to survive.

-.PD.-

When the Tyrell's arrived (and didn't start cutting down Goldcloaks) Joffrey exhaled in relief. Stannis had been routed, and the Lannisters had won. He had had to endure his Grandfather's pompous entrance, but it was worth it. It was all worth it.

Less enjoyable was the spectacle that followed next morning. Watching Tywin enter the Throne Room on his fucking horse again was almost more than he could bear. Why the horse? For all of his seriousness and harsh demeanor, his Grandfather had a flair for the dramatic and an ego bigger than said horse.

As he entered, Joffrey proclaimed. "I, Joffrey of the House Baratheon, First of his name, rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do hereby proclaim my Grandfather, Tywin Lannister, Savior of the City, and Hand of the King!"

That was a mouthful… For all his prowess, Tywin hadn't even helped that much in the counter attack. The Westerlands Army was still at Harrenhal, cowering on fear of the Young Wolf. It had been the Tyrells, and of course the imp that had turned the tide, not that anyone would admit that.

As the arrogant bastard retreated with an amiable "Thank you, Your Grace", leaving horse shit all over the floor, Joffrey called Baelish and gifted him Harrenhall, same as last time. Joffrey was honestly surprised as to how someone could look so harmless yet possess so much influence. He hadn't forgotten that in another life, Baelish had arranged a Tyrell alliance and marriage… with the Red fucking Wolf.

Best for him to stay out of the way and at Harrenhall then.

The only silver lining in the whole deal was his prize, his Maergery. Of course, they had rehearsed all the show that followed, same as last time. Loras proclaimed that he wanted Joffrey to marry Maergery as his reward for aiding the Lannisters in their darkest hour. They made quite the spectacle for the courtiers as his mother and Grand Maester Pycell debated over the possibility of dropping Sansa's betrothal with the consent of law and gods. And so, just like that, Joffrey had exchanged the mostly worthless, naive Sansa for the far more pleasant Maergery.

-.PD.-

The next days and weeks were much more pleasant with Maergery as his betrothed. Always saying the right thing, praising him, and bowing to the will of her King when appropriate. She was certainly the ideal queen, with both grace and beauty, and, unlike Sansa, she didn't look like she was on the verge of crying every day.

Though… She did seem a bit insistent, trying to steer him away from some choices and into other ones. After some of their discussions Joffrey would find himself… making a decision that he had not agreed on earlier. That bothered him a bit. Plus, he didn't remember her being this way in his first life… or did he? Had he somehow changed things even though he roughly followed the path this time?

More questions…

Events mostly preceded as standard, the Red Wedding, the flight of Stannis North, and other less notable events. The Red Wedding in particular was a stone of his back for Joffrey. Knowing the Red Wolf menace was gone for good made him almost forget the insolent ways of his grandfather. Almost.

As the day of his wedding approached, Joffrey's shakes, which had relegated themselves mostly to the background, started to come back more often. Dreams of burning alive and poisoned plagued his sleep, and his conversations with Maergery seemed only to make it worse. For some reason he was a bit more tense and stressed when he talked to her these days…

-.PD.-

Finally the big day arrived. Joffrey could barely keep his breakfast in his stomach as the guests presented their gifts and wished him their best. Joffrey however could see how they eyed Maergery with some kind of… pity? When the guests noticed him looking at them they quickly turned away, eager to be out of his sight.

The best gift, as always, was the magnificent Valyrian steel sword that had been recycled from the traitors arsenal. …Widows Wail, as he had named her before and did so again now, was both beautiful and deadly. Joffrey remembered thinking it was a shame he hadn't had it sooner to battle with it… he knew better now. The battlefield was a horrid place where he hoped he never had to return again.

When the imp presented him his book, Joffrey prepared himself to cut it to shreds all over again. "'The Lives of Four Kings', Your Grace. A book every King should read." Said the imp, handing him the vast, embroided tome to the applause of the audience. As he stood up to cut it in half, Joffrey hesitated. The damned Imp's wit and intellect was as sharp as valyran steel, that much Joffrey knew just by talking to him somewhat more often in this life. That made him more than a bit envious, to be smarter than the King…

Respect and Envy… wouldn't old Joffrey be surprised. He thought somewhat sardonically. Fuck it, if he can read it, so can I.

So he just smiled and nodded, taking in the book. He'd read it later, maybe there'd be something useful there after all, and if not he could always shred it later.

The dinner proceeded almost the same as last time, Joffrey thought, though his memory of that day was far from perfect. He barely even touched his cup, only moistening his lips at most, his eyes never leaving the imp. Shit, need to torment him like last time. He had forgotten about that!

As he emptied his wine cup on the imp, and continued to torment him in an unseemly manner, Joffrey felt the tiniest twinge of guilt, but ruthlessly suppressed it. This was the man that had killed him, after all.

As the imp searched for the cup below the table, the giant cake arrived. Warily, conscious now of how close he had been on his first life of cutting his own hand with Widow's Wail, he cut the cake. The pigeons that burst from it where a lot less impressive when you knew they'd come out… though their bloodied remains… seemed to energized Joffrey as he looked at them. As their blood soaked a bit of the cake, Joffrey felt pleased with himself.

"There's something deeply wrong with you Joffrey" Said a dead man in his head.

"Shut up Stark!" He shouted, almost tossing the sword. The stunned silence from the crowd made him scowl as he turned back. Time to end the charade traitorous imp!

"Imp, you are my cup bearer! Refill the cup!" he commanded. The imp looked humiliated and almost.. hurt? He didn't remember that… as he grabbed the cup that had been laid next to Olenna Tyrell, pouring the wine and holding it to him.

Joffrey felt his breath quicken as the moment of his first death approached. Now was the moment of truth. Not accepting the cup, he stared at the imp.

"You drink it" He said, icily, looking at the traitor in his eyes. The imp stared back at him, bewildered and wary.

"DRINK IT!" He bellowed, setting his hand on his sword's pommel.

The imp knew he was going to die, Joffrey had to be prepared for anything, after all he admitted it freely, the imp was brave. It was possible he could even try to kill Joffrey right then and there once discovered. He should bring in his Kingsguard to hold him and make him—

"Certainly" He said with a forced smile. "I've never refused a free drink before!" he shouted as he downed the cup in one gulp.

What the…

Joffrey stared in shock as the Imp killed himself.

"Uncle… why?" He asked dumbly.

He lifted his eyebrows "Why what?"

So, I changed things, willingly or not. The imp probably plans to kill me at another time, and--

Cough! The imp wheezed.

"I didn't remember Braavosi Amber being so sour!" he said as he wrinkled his nose.

A slow, burning realization seared past his head as Joffrey watched his own uncle die.

It hadn't been him.

… and coughed… and coughed again and again as he stared at his hands in confusion.

He was a scapegoat.

He collapsed on the floor as his head turned an ugly purple and his hands scrabbled at his neck. People where already shouting, but unlike when Joffrey had died, no one was calling for help.

Joffrey shook his head. "Someone bring the Grand Maester! Your King commands you!" he shouted. "U-uncle.. hold on!" he said uselessly as he stared helplessly. His uncle Jaime suddenly emerged from the crowd at a dead sprint and kneeled in front of the imp. "TYRION! WHERE'S THE GRAND MAESTER!" He bellowed with all his strength as he desperately shook the imp around.

It was all useless. With one final gurgle, the imp lay dead.

Joffrey stared around him as the courtiers and everyone else stared dumbly at the scene in front of them. Though no one except his uncle Jaime seemed too bothered by the death apart from its gruesomeness, in fact, his mother looked positively interested as she looked at the imp, then horrified when she looked at Joffrey and probably remembered he had been a handful away from suffering the same fate.

Things were more complicated than he had thought…

-.PD.-

After a thorough checking of all the food and wine (only the wine on his cup had been found to be tainted) the celebrations resumed, albeit in a much more somber mood. There was no choice but to go no, the Affairs of the Kingdoms waited for no one said some of the more cynical courtiers. The fact that no one had even questioned that the wedding would continue on as planned spoke leagues as to what the nobility present thought of the Imp.

Joffrey was still kind of processing it all as he tried to figure out who exactly wanted him dead. All those considerations however faded away as he was carried by the woman of the party to his bedding.

He was promptly carried to his bedchambers and locked inside… confronted with a naked, gorgeous Maergery, staring back demurely at him, hiding her lower parts coyly with her long legs.

Gods…

His mind blanked as he processed the sight. He had already seen a naked woman before… a now strangely distasteful and pleasurable memory of a crossbow and a tied whore assaulted him… He had never actually done the deed. He had preferred… bloodier hobby's. It was really a belated hindsight.

Time to fix that.

"Don't be shy, Your Grace, your natural charm will surely transfer itself to the bed in no time" she told him as she patted the bed seductively.

She sure has a way with words. Thought Joffrey as he breathed quicker.

Damn, I need something to calm myself.

He looked behind him and found a conveniently placed wine bottle. Suppressing shivers at the familiar memory, Joffrey praised fate in his mind. At last something goes my way.

The bottle seemed new and sealed. It was a fine vintage of Dornish red with the best complements of Oberyn Martel in a letter beside it. He quickly skimmed the letter and left it in favor of the wine. Even so, he took a minuscule sip from it and savored it before discreetly spitting it out at the cup…

Not even a trace of sour. It was even a bit spicy.

Content, he downed the whole thing. He could already feel his nerves steading as he advanced on Maergery, and they started kissing.

His heart beated away franticly as the kiss deepened, and both fell on the bed. This was even better than he had imagined!

His hands started exploring away as his heart soared even higher. Thump. Thump. Thump.

This… this was what it meant to be King!

Thump. Thump.ThumpThumpTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP.

His heart hammered away in a frenzy as they continued to mingle on the bed. This…. THUMP is THUMP not THUMP norm--

THUMPTHUMPTHUMP

Joffrey cried out as his heart beat seemed to reach such a velocity it was as if it was no longer beating, just one pulsing stream.

Then it finally stopped.

Silence.

Joffrey screamed wordlessly as his heart stopped completely, and felt a deep, aching pain on his chest. "…Joffrey?" asked a flushed Maergery.

This can't be happening.

He fell out of bed, clutching his chest with both hands. He couldn't even speak as his body seemed on fire. "Joffrey!!" screamed Maergery.

One of the Kingsguard ruptured through the door, and rushed Joffrey. As more and more people streamed in, Joffrey had one last thought as the purple creeped into his vision.

I can't believe I died a virgin again…

His neck snapped and his throat collapsed in the purple void.

He screamed into the abyss as the purple consumed him.


	7. CHAPTER 6

Chapter 6: Relief.

His lungs breathed liquid fire as his whole body twisted. His eyes were an agony of pain as his swollen skin seemed to crunch them in their sockets, and his nostrils imploded onto themselves in blood and purple.

MAKE IT STOP.

Joffrey felt the liquid inside his eyes pool down his cheeks as his body shuddered in rigor mortis, crouching in on itself as even his teeth were shattered against each other to pieces as the purple squeezed.

STOP.

Joffrey inhaled a lungful of air and vomited all over the floor.

After emptying his stomach of bile, he supported his back on the bed's side, fisting and relaxing his hands repeatedly.

He rocked back and forwards for a bit as he weathered the increasingly violent shivers, each time shaking him harder than the last. I… did it all. Same as before. But yet… I still… Still I failed…

Everything I do…

His motion intensified as he felt tears welling in his eyes. Why do I keep dying?! Why do they keep bringing me back… the pain… oh gods make it stop…

His mind flashed past a burning pyre, a shattering blow, a crushed windpipe, an agony of memories. And after every death, the sour embrace of the Strangler, each time getting possibly worse. He felt silent tears streaking down his cheeks as he grabbed his pillow and gave out a muffled scream. So many people… so much death and for what?! For nothing!

Stay the course or change things, it doesn't matter!

All the scheming and plotting, all the grand stratagems and armies… they all meant nothing. My family means nothing, power means nothing. Anything I do, I'll end up dead, back in the purple.

His sanity threatened to snap as Joffrey contemplated a terrifying, soul crushing thought.

No…

What…

What if….

What if this never stops…. What if I'm actually in the seven hells, and this is my punishment. Joffrey started to shake once more, he was hyperventilating.

What if… I'll be here… forever… and ever…

He breathed in and out every half second, shaking and rocking back and forth in the floor.

The world seemed to shrink to a pinprick of vision.

No rest…Death… purple agony forever… again and again and again and again and again--

He couldn't take it anymore. Joffrey rolled over his back, unconscious.

-.PD.-

In the end, Joffrey managed to hold on to his sanity… barely. He had woken up in the same position he had fainted, and managed to calm himself. It was strange though, his appetite seemed to have been cut in half, and he needed to constantly be touching someone, anyone living to reassure himself he wasn't alone in the seven hells. Even so, the faintest thought of dying or his past lives brought on an existential crisis and a bottomless pit of despair right in his chest, his stomach, his head, everywhere. Any time he found himself thinking about such things he quickly tried to distract himself as fast as he could.

Even so he was slipping. The last one had been, thankfully, alone in the hallways. It had been dark at night, and he had passed too closely to a torch, which had brought on a flashback to Baelors Plaza as the fire licked his face and he contemplated starting again and dying again and that this would never end and he would stay here for ever and die die die die die—

"Joffrey?!" Asked his mother, concerned. Joffrey realized he had been hyperventilating again, this time in his Mothers freaking Wheelhouse. "Ah… Ah… Ah its nothing.. ah… mother" he said as he struggled to get his breathing back under control and crushed his mother's hand with his own. Tommen and Myrcella stared at him both wary and scared as Joffrey put his hands under his armpits in a desperate attempt to avoid the shakes.

Gods… not here, not in front of them.

The shakes arrived slowly, building up from the inside. "Joffrey, what's wrong!? Stop the carriage!" shouted his mother. "Mother… I-I-m o-o-ok-a-ay, j-j-j-j-j-juu-u-u--" I'm dying! Im dying again! Why?! Not the purple again!!! The shakes started rattling him inside the carriage. "G-g-get ooooutt!" he screamed as he opened the door and jumped down. The carriage had been passing a part of the Kingsroad which was raised above the rest of the land, so Joffrey rolled and tumbled down the slope.

Thoughts of being stuck in a void of purple forever, made for him to never escape…suddenly found themselves interrupted by the abrupt pain that was coming from all of Joffrey's body.

As the guards raced down, they found a strange sight… Joffrey hitting himself with all his strength in his thigh, again and again… As they restrained him, Joffrey's quick, hard breathing had passed, and there were tears of joy in his eyes. "It stopped… thank you… thank you…" he babbled incoherently.

-.PD.-

"J-Joffrey… please… could.. you give me back my cat?!" Tommen suddenly blurted. He said the last part all on a blur, and flinched as he waited for Joffrey's response.

Joffrey had been eying him all afternoon as the wheelhouse bumped along the carnnogmen's marshes in the way to the Neck. Tommen had been psyching himself up the whole day, and when mother had fallen asleep he had made his move. His stupid brother didn't understand that if he-- Gods-- Lion was helping him hold off the..—pit-- oh gods.

He shivered lightly as he petted the small cat again and again, clutching his fur close to his belly. The shakes soon passed, and Joffrey breathed lightly again. That's right, only me and you little Lion, you are a brave Lion aren't you? Yes you are, also lazy!" He thought as he petted him again and Lion shifted in his lap, mewling softly in contentment.

A tentative smile graced Joffrey's features. Think of the cat, a beautiful cat. The thoughts of eternity soon passed Joffrey's mind.

"J-Joffrey…?" murmured Tommen.

"No" Said Joffrey, clutching Lion protectively.

"B-but--"

Joffrey shifted a bit, his pulse quickening as his hand slipped to his dagger. Just let it be Tommen, you're not having him. I'll stab you right in the eye! You'll not take him!!! But it will have to be quiet, not to wake mother. Bury him outside.

His grip tightened as he breathing run faster yet again. "Leave it be, Tommen" He whispered, his voice strangled. He must have sensed the danger because Tommen seemed to deflate as he shifted backwards with a terrified "I'm sorry"

Joffrey kept petting Lion.

The cat and, for when he failed, sudden applications of pain towards his person had prevented any more bouts… But it was a close run thing. Joffrey didn't need to be a maester to know his sanity was hanging by a thread now, but, who wouldn't be?! He –was – trapped here to --

He clutched Lion even tighter as he petted him monomaniacaly. Good cat good cat good cat. Lion gave a mild yawn of discomfort, eying him lazily before rolling in his hands and snoozing again.

What a lazy cat. Indeed.

He didn't notice Tommen gradually hiding under his cloak.

-.PD.-

The Wheelhouse plodded away, and before long they arrived at Winterfell again. He rarely talked to anyone there, preferring to walk through the keeps walls, enjoying the fresh air, it seemed to sooth him… slightly. Little Lion never left his side, and seemed comfortable enough with Joffrey's constant attentions. His bizarre conduct had raised more than a few eyebrows, and rumor had it that the arch traitor had tactfully proposed a betrothal between Bran and Myrcella.

Joffrey snorted, not that he cared. Just as well, anything to keep stupid Sansa away from him. Maybe he could arrange a betrothal with Maergery right away? It would certainly speed things up… But that would change things, that was bad- Crack- it could have—The flames consumed his facial air in a second, reducing them to ash as they burned his skin— But to not change anything meant-- Purple started to occlude his sight, and he knew the end was near, the purple would have a little fun with him, then it would spit him out, only to lie in wait again, laying in anticipation, it wouldn't have to wait for long, it had foreverandeverandeverandever

Oh no, thought Joffrey as the shakes took him.He stopped walking and crouched, petting little Lion again and again and taking deep breaths. Lion's fur is awfully light, but he does have some black spots, huh, I wonder about that… He crouched there for a few minutes.

Taking ahold of himself, he stood up, relieved. He noticed Lord Stark the arch traitor staring at him from a distance, but as soon as Joffrey met his eyes the Lord seemed to hesitate, thinking about something only to finally lower his head and walk on.

He's probably going to the damned Godswood again, I don't understand what the savages find so mesmerizing out of a fucking tree.

-.PD.-

Joffrey would wonder what he'd do this life, but every time he tried… well he knew better than to keep at it. So he spent his days at Winterfell in a somewhat simplified existence, though he made sure to touch his mother's hand a couple of times a day and to hug her every night, the close human contact helped him fight away his bouts of madness.

He was walking through Winterfells courtyard again and petting Lion as usual, thinking about getting some wine-- his heart hammered away, his pulse quickened to unnatural speeds—Gods damnit, some ale. Only some ale. He thought as he petted Lion yet again. Joffrey didn't know how much he could hold on, each time more and more random thoughts seemed to trigger his… condition… and the despair about his madness itself seemed to feed into it, creating some kind of loop. Joffrey quickly moved his attention elsewhere, knowing the madness would come if he continued along that line of thought. …He couldn't even think about what was happening to him without….gods..--

Look somewhere, anywhere. He spotted a somewhat familiar figure, scaling the broken tower. That stupid kid, Bran. Let's check out why he slips on the same godsdamned rock every single time, why not, he thought with monomaniacal intensity, doing everything not to think about…

As the stupid boy kept scaling, Joffrey used the stairs as any sane person would. He scratched Lion's head as he walked up the stairs. Poor idiot's been falling from this tower since my first life… That slippery rock must be cursed by the gods themselves.

He finally arrived to the decrepit oak door that lay half burned. Opening it up, he saw his mother and uncle fucking each other.

Bran seemed to arrive a few moments later, they spoke a bit between themselves but Joffrey couldn't hear the words. There was a dull roar inside his head.

His uncle got up and pushed Bran off the ledge. Hmm, so that's why he keeps falling, he thought.

Hmmm

Even in his state, Joffrey could connect the dots easily enough.

It seems I was doing Stannis an injustice. It was I who was the real traitor! That thought manifested itself with unusual clarity in Joffrey's mind, which had lately been a bit sluggish.

I'm not Fath—Roberts true born son. Black of hair… indeed… black of hair… black of hair… black of hair…

The rumors where true… A bastard born out of incest… even the smallfolk's can sometimes get it right.

He hadn't moved at all since opening the door. He saw his mother's pristine nude body robing herself again, and uncl-- ….Father… putting on… his armor.

The dull roar inside Joffrey's head grew very quiet, almost imperceptible to his hearing. He snorted a quick laugh, finally getting the whole thing.

His Father and Mother snapped back to him, faces suddenly filled with sheer horror. "J-Joffrey?" asked his Father, dumbly. "How long have you been standing there, sweetie?" asked his Mother, her eyes looking franticly between her son and her lover. She had always been the more quick witted of the two, now that Joffrey thought about it.

Joffrey laughed out loud. "Oh Mother… Father! Thank you! This! This was the purpose! I understand now!" He said. He was suddenly filled with relief.

They stared, shocked into stillness by it all.

"This is why they kept bringing me back! I'm free now!" Joffrey struggled to say as he grabbed his belly, laughing like he'd just heard the best joke to have ever been told… though, thinking about it, he kind of had. He laughed so hard tears fell down his cheeks, and his belly hurt a bit because of the constant giggle that had overtaken him.

"S-sweetie--" Said his mother, taking a step forward only for Joffrey's laughter to abruptly and instantly stop, as if cut with a knife. "Stay away from me" he said almost conversationally as he took several steps back, lightning quick, bumping against the broken tower's wall.

His mother hesitated, putting her hand on his Father's shoulder as he tried to stand up. "Let me" she whispered quietly but urgently into Jaime's ear. It had been kind of obvious in hindsight, thought Joffrey. Didn't horses that bred with their families produce offspring that was… wrong somehow?

There's something deeply wrong with you Joffrey, whispered Lord Starks deformed head in his ear.

Oh Stark, if only you kne…

He… had known, hadn't he?

He laughed out loud at that, startling his mother, who had been taking slow steps towards him. The arch traitor was actually not a traitor! Who would have thought about that! I should certainly apologies to Lord Stark the next time I see him! He thought ruefully-

"My son, I can explain--" started the sweet voice of his mother as she took another step, starting to stretch her hand out.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Screeched Joffrey with all his strength as he scrambled sideways. Wow, where did that came from? He thought as his heart seemed to beat a thousand times faster than it normally had, Yikes… I really should calm down a bit!

Well, it was over at least, he had that going on for him. "I think I've never wanted to lay down more than now!" he said with a snort as he popped his head out from a nearby window. "This whole multiple lives thing was even fun for a while, I have to admit, but still, I'm glad its over now. And to think!" he said as he stared back at them with a look of surprised bewilderment "It had been so simple!"

He left brave little Lion in the floor. "Take care of that cat, even if he's a bit lazy!" he said good naturedly. "Joffrey, Wha--" he Father started, but her mother as usual had figured it out first. She leapt into a sprint, barely meters away from Joffrey as she screamed "JOFFREY! DON'T!!!".

Pff, what a spectacle. He didn't understand why she was so distraught, he was ending the cycle!

With that thought in mind, he leapt off the window, only a handspan away from his mother's reaching form. He sailed through the air head first towards the ground.

Don't want to end up like poor Bran now, would we?

He could see a large crowd had already converged surrounding Bran's crumbled form. Those lucky bastards, now they get to see a live reenactment!

He shattered against the ground head first. He died instantly, and was greeted instantly.

The purple consumed him, twisting his neck and spine, crushing his internal organs and blocking his airways.

So.. its not over then, strange. Thought Joffrey in midst of the pain.

The purple swirled around him as his face crunched in on itself, shattering his eyes and grinding his teeth to nothing.

I can't believe I was so stressed out because of this! He thought, utterly bewildered. The pain wasn't that bad! It hurt a little, sure, but it was, in a way, even cleansing…

Yes… now that he thought about it, he was being purged… cleansed.

The shocking realization was so strong it was like a sledgehammer to the face for Joffrey.

The purple was helping me! All this time! He thought as his throat collapsed into itself, and his hands twisted towards his body, way past the limits of his ligaments

It was so obvious! You'd need to be blind not to see it!

Joffrey laughed. In the midst of the purple agony, Joffrey laughed.

-.PD.-

Joffrey woke up with a quiet sight, and got off his bed calmly enough. Huh, I didn't even vomit this time, he thought.

It's really strange, I was sure it should have ended… maybe a fall isn't enough to end the whole process.

"Now where did I leave that damned dagger…" He muttered as he searched his wardrobe, and then his bedchest.

"Aha! Found it!" he proclaimed loudly. "Now, lets see…" he muttered as he took it out of its sheath and stabbed himself in the heart. He collapsed on his knees, blood pooling all around him. It didn't even hurt that much.

He crumbled on top of the floor as the Purple greeted him again, almost like an old friend.

I can't believe I feared you! Thought Joffrey as he greeted the enveloping agony again.

-.PD.-

The Hound was laying his back on the wall, taking in a bit of the morning sunlight filtering through the window. He could hear the servants below rushing about their duties for the day, and the king bellowing and laughing, making ready for his next hunt, he guessed.

He had heard a bit of noise from the little shit's room for a while now, so he guessed he was already awake. Though why he hadn't called his servants to dress him was a mystery. Perhaps he forgot… I better remind him, I won't have the Queen haggling me because the little shit didn't arrive to his bloody meal in time…

He shifted his weight off the wall and knocked on Joffrey's door.

He could hear a faint squishing sound from the other side of the door, but it stopped as soon as he knocked. "Yes? Who is it?" asked the prince, amiably enough. Glad he's having a good day, thought the Hound.

"It's Clegane, my prince." He said, shifting his weight. Why can't he do this things by himself… sighted the Hound uselessly.

"Oh, come in Hound!" Said the little shit.

My my he's chipper this morning.

The hound opened the door, and had to get a hold of the doors frame as what he saw stole his breath away.

Prince Joffrey was covered in blood… Both his eyes had been pierced by the bloodied dagger in his hand... and his scalp was over the bed, the blood mingling with the blonde hair.

"It still won't end Hound! Very annoying! I figured out maybe I can break the cycle by getting rid of the Lannister parts, make myself a bit more Baratheon so to speak!" He chuckled. "So we'll… well, I'll see how that works out" he seemed to think for a second, tilting his sightless, blood bathed head upwards a bit. "Eyes and hair, that's what Stannis always talked about. Can you think of any other Lannister traits?" he asked him.

Clegane took a deep breath as he felt his breakfast bubbling upwards through his throat. "N…No, my Prince" he said, walking slowly towards Joffrey.

Joffrey seemed to pout for a bit. "Oh, well it was a long shot anyway. I'll see how it goes as it is then" He said as he raised the dagger to his throat.

Clegane burst into a sprint, but Joffrey was already cutting. "See you on the other side Hound! Well, hopefully not, but you get the poinkkkkggggggggghhhh" he gurgled as he collapsed to the floor.

"GRAND MAESTER!" Roared Clegane with all his might as he got a hold of the bloody wreck that was Joffrey.

He shouldn't have bothered.

Joffrey seemed to smile as the blood seeped out of his cut throat.


	8. CHAPTER 7

Chapter 7: Whispers of Peace.

Hm. That didn't work either. Still, its just a matter of trying. Thought Joffrey as he got up from his bed and walked up to the window. This didn't work last time, but maybe it's the Red Keep, he mused as he jumped through the window.

He landed in the courtyard, a twisted and bloody wreck. People all over shouted in alarm, and Robert himself went pale as a sheet as he got off his horse and run towards Joffrey. "Gods! Joffrey! My son!" Shouted Robert as he flailed around in a panic for two seconds before grabbing a nearby goldcloak and shoving him towards the main keep "You! Get the Grandmaester now!"

Robert, calm down, I'm not your son. Joffrey tried to say, but it only came out as a wet gurgle. "Oh, Joffrey, please." Robert struggled to say as he grabbed Joffrey and held him in his arms. Didn't knew he cared that much about me. More's the pity. Thought Joffrey as his sight faded away and the purple came back. As utter agony flooded him, Joffrey chuckled. This is the best you can do?

Try harder. He thought as he stretched his arms in the void and flew.

-.PD.-

Joffrey walked through the Red Keeps hallway. He turned a right and came up to the Queen's bedchambers, guarded by the Kingslayer. "Prince Joffrey" He said as he nodded.

"Father" nodded Joffrey. Jaime was so petrified he didn't even flinch when Joffrey slashed his neck with his dagger. He brought both gauntleted hands to his neck in surprise, trying to stem the flow with his hands as he fell on the floor. "Sorry Father, I'm trying to figure out what the bloody purple wants, this is just getting tiring, you know?" he said as he stopped in front of the door. "Though, maybe now…" he mused as he put the dagger in front of his chest. "Nah, better to make sure" he said as he lowered the dagger and opened the door.

"Hello Mother!" he said as Cercei stood up from her chair in surprise. "Joffrey! What--" her voice choked out as she witnessed the body behind Joffrey as he strolled into the room.

"Sorry about Father, but you really should have thought about things before fucking your own brother! Their offspring can fail pretty hard, just look at the Targeryens" he said as he approached her.

His Mother seemed to crumble, semi-crouching in the floor and holding a gut wrenching sob of incomprehension, both her hands covering her mouth. "Hey! Don't be like that! At least I'm not jumping into wildfire trying to turn into a dragon!" He said as he snorted, then seemed to pause for a bit. "Wildfire… hmmm" he pondered.

He nodded and then grabbed his Mothers hair. He could already hear screams from the hallway, better make it quick! "I'm just so tired by all this, there's got to be away" he muttered as he slit her throat. She didn't even resist, lax in his hands.

Ser Boros Blunt crashed into the room, sword drawn and seeking enemies. "Okay, here goes nothing" He said as he plunged the dagger in his heart. The last thing he saw before greeting the purple was Ser Boros slack face, it was really kind of amusing.

-.PD.-

Grand Maester Pycell leaned back on his seat, analyzing the Crown Prince, hiding behind the doddering fool façade that had served him so well for all this years. "A poison that seemed to strangle a person?" he muttered haltingly. The Strangler of course. But the question was, why?

Well, there was no harm in letting him hold it for a bit, its not like he could run away with the vial, he'd alert the King in that case and nothing ill would come of it, though the story of "having read it on a book and got curious" was laughable at best.

Still, he haltingly, almost shuddering, turned back, unlocked the cupboard and passed him the dangerous poison.

Joffrey took it, looked at it for a couple of seconds and promptly drank it.

The Grand Maester stumbled as he stood up, his chair flying back as he grabbed the prince with strong hands that belied their old age. THE GODSDAMNED FOOL! I'VE GOT TO MAKE HIM VOMIT BEFORE--

He stared dumbly at the dagger sticking out of his chest. "Oh get off old man" Joffrey said as he brushed him off. Pycell stumbled backwards and fell on his desk as he watched Joffrey stretch his limbs for a bit, and cracked a couple knuckles. "Bit too sweet I think. Some Maester's apprentice is slacking off… though it should still work… I hope." Muttered Joffrey as he walked around the room, flexing his arms again. Pycelle just tried to staunch the bleeding, and he was failing miserably in that front.

"Damn it Pycell, this thing should already be working, Fathe—Ah! Damnit! Robert should fire you and get an Alchemist instead. Said Joffrey impatiently.

Pycell said nothing as he struggled to reach the nearby cupboard that held his medicinal supplies. Need… to staunch… the bleeding… He thought as he fumbled for his keys. Joffrey didn't seem to mind.

Joffrey coughed, then smiled. The sight of that shook Pycell so much he dropped his keys. "Oh Gods" he mumbled as he crouched to pick them up again.

"Well that took its sweet time... Sweet… ha!" Joffrey's chuckle petered off as he fell on the floor, writhing and holding his throat.

Pycell finally got the right keys, but found out he couldn't get back up again.

Oh dear…

His vision blurred and the last thing he saw was Joffrey's face contorted in… annoyance?

What-- the--….

-.PD.-

Gods… so tired. I think I should rest for a while… but there's still a couple ways I should try first… I wonder if…

"I'll repeat myself again, okay? You need to torture me" He said to the gaol jailor and unofficial torturer of the Red Keep. The man stuttered dumbly as he looked around him, trying to find someone to help him in this outright bizzare, no, otherworldly situation. "Ah… I can't do that your grace…" he mumbled as he took a tiny step back.

The Crown Prince seemed to sight as he stepped forward and handed him his dagger. "Its really not that hard" he said, exasperated as he gripped the man's hand (now with the dagger) and stabbed himself all the way through the cheek. "See?" he said as he spat a mouthful of blood on the floor.

The man stumbled back, letting out a scream before running as fast as he feet could take him up the stairs.

Figures… Guess I'll have to do it myself. Didn't seem too hard when I did it to Stark… the angles may be tough though…

-.PD.-

"Right over here my prince" said Wisdom Hallyne as he guided Joffrey over the storage area. Tis been decades since we have been graced with a royal presence! For the good of the guild I must impress the prince.

He watched the prince carefully as they walked to the underground vaults were the substance was stored. People often looked down on the Alchemist's Guild, seeing them as nothing more than cheap tricksters. Fools, thought Hayllyne. The Targeryeans knew the true worth of our work, and the importance of it. Still, for want of a dragon, I'll take a stag.

"Here is one of the storage areas, as you see we have taken ample precautions" he said, gesturing at the rows of wildfire suspended above sandbags from below and above, ready in case of an unexpected detonation. Hayllene got one of them from the racks, twirling it carefully in his old, expert hands. The Prince eyed the substance with a strange mix of curiosity and apathy. "May I see it, Wisdom?" he asked.

The vacant look of the Prince sent a shiver of foreboding, but Hallyne quickly overrode it. We must get back our royal patronage! KingRobert had been less than amused when his predecessor had walked to court asking for more funding…

Wisdom Gobbard was lucky Robert didn't rent his head asunder with his hammer…

Carefully, he passed it on to the prince. He seemed to examine the green jar a bit as he carefully took the lid out. "Careful my prince…" said Hayllene, eying the Prince anxiously. The prince looked at him and snorted.

"It would be very ironic if I turned into a dragon… ha!" he said as he drank the jar's contents in one fell swoop.

Joffrey seemed to grunt as he bent a bit, semi crouched. This lasted 1 seconds as he then exploded in a green blast that devoured his body. A shocked Wisdom Hayllene shrieked as he turned his back to run at the door, but there was never time. The explosion seared his back and flung him to the side, crashing against more jars of wildfire. As more explosions rocked the building, the support struts of the room burnt as they were supposed to, and Wisdom, fire and Prince were buried under an avalanche of sand that descended from the ceiling.

-.PD.-

Joffrey felt each death a little faster, the memories of it a little more blurred, the pain diluted. In each life he talked a bit less, his deaths were a bit less creative or different. His emotions were being purged, and the crushing guilt and despair got a bit less overwhelming. He was also a lot more tired, and the last few lives he barely had the strength to get out of bed and jump out the window.

Its… working… he thought in a tired haze as he stumbled out of his bed and struggled to open the window. He barely felt his hands as they fumbled the lock. Exhausted… its… working…

He finally managed to open it, but he didn't feel the wind coming through it.

He fell more than jumped out the window, and he barely felt any pain as he crashed against the hard ground, even the purple barely even registered anymore. His thoughts were even slower now, and everything seemed to blur.

He lost himself in the blur.

-.PD.-

Joffrey floated in the blur.

He had lost all perception of time, all perception of everything really.

I am no more, he thought with detached disinterest. Even as he thought of that, the term "I" lost meaning, there was no more "Joffrey", just… a blur.

There was only the blur, sometimes interrupted by clouds of purple, like weather, that would come and go as the wind.

-.PD.-

And then, with a trickle, with infinite time, just like a pendulum reaching the zenith of its momentum… it started to come back. Joffrey felt himself slowly being built again, at a crawl. The Purple winds drifted now and then, swirling by as Joffrey… remembered.

I am…

I… am…. Joffrey.

Slowly at first, the memories came back. Crown prince…. No…

…traitor and bastard…

The haze lifted for a bit and he could see a blond haired woman, tenderly feeding him with some soup from a nearby bowl. Although Joffrey couldn't feel the flavor, or even his body, he could hear her soothing tune.

Mother…

The blur came back again, and Joffrey drifted in nothingness, uncaring, completely neutral. When it came back, he could see a tall, balding man with a gaze of iron. He was arguing with a beautiful red head which despite her appearance seemed to radiate an aura of danger.

Uncl--… Lord Stannis… King Stannis…

They intend to burn me again, thought Joffrey, though the thought of it didn't seem to faze him. The discussion got heated as the red woman extended a greedy hand towards Joffrey's face, only to be batted away angrily by Stannis, as he ordered some men to take her away from the room.

They wouldn't burn him, then. He didn't feel either relief or disappointment as the blur came back again. The blur would continue on, Joffrey didn't know for how long, intersped by bouts of purple. The moments when he could see again would be fleeting and rare, but mostly he saw servants, and his mother.

Is it sad to be so little thought of in your hour of greatest darkness?

He honestly couldn't answer that question.

-.PD.-

After a millennia of time, or a day, Joffrey seemed to land on his bed, the puffy feeling of floating in nothingness receding away like the morning tide… and staying in his edges. He rested there for a while, gazing at the dark ceiling.

With a monumental effort, Joffrey got up. He could barely feel his feet as he slowly limped towards the door. The Red Keep was dark, and the heavy sound of rain seemed omnipresent. Joffrey walked towards the main gate, using the occasional torch and the frequent lightning bolts to see his way.

The rain was so heavy that the guards didn't even notice him as he limped by at the same time a cart entered the main gate. Completely drenched, he made his way through King's Landing. The few smallfolks that noticed him in the dark, torrential night steered clear of his way, probably taking him for a beggar.

With single minded determination, a deep exhaustion heavy on both his body and mind, Joffrey walked into Baelor's Sept.

As always, the secondary doors were open, but the Sept itself seemed devoid of life. As Joffrey limped towards the Altar of the Father, breathing heavily from the exertion, his eyes began to water. Finally, with an effort of will, Joffrey lurched and landed at the feet of the Father.

Seven… please help me… Why… Why are you doing this to me?

The pounding rain kept on, interrupted by distant thunders. The heavy chandeliers barely keept out an oppressive, strangling darkness.

Please… no more… there is no… reason for me to live on...

Please…

Desperately, Joffrey lunged and grabbed the enormous feet of the Father's Statue, holding on to them franticly.

Father, I know my justice was an abomination, my scales where a mockery. But I only tried… Joffrey struggled to carry it through. Only tried to keep the peace…

But the excuse sounded hollow in Joffrey's mind, and an ominous thunder illuminated the silhouette of the Father, encasing Joffrey in his shadow for a brief moment.

The ideals of the Father, Justice and leadership… I had failed at them. I was no leader, only a tyrant, my justice a flimsy excuse. I only wanted power, power to rule, power to command… power to be cared by the father that never was.

In the end, he was an abomination in the Father's sight. The son of his uncle, how could he expect the Father to listen to him, if by rights he should have never been born. He had no true father, thus the Father Above would always be denied to him.

With that sickening realization crystalizing in his mind, he lurched to the next statue. The benevolent Mother gazed from above, caring and forgiving.

Mother please listen to me… have compassion… please Mother… PLEASE…

The gaze of the Mother Above seemed to turn cruel and unforgiving. He had reveled in his cruelty and hurt with wanton abandon. He would find no mercy here.

Silent tears streaming down, Joffrey limped to the next altar, where the stern Warrior stood vigilant. Through Joffrey's blurring vision, the menacing statue seemed poised to strike him down. When had he demonstrated strength? When had he shown true courage other than to save his life? When had he been brave?

He limped on, not willing to stand any longer below such a force. The Maiden seemed to sneer at him, her expression one of hatred.

Appropriate, Joffrey thought. I have flaunted her protection, I have killed girls and woman. His fevered mind leapt to a scene instantly, Joffrey holding Sansa's head steady, forcing her to look at the face of her dead father.

I have broken the innocence you strive to protect.

With a sudden shock of self-loathing, Joffrey dry heaved, but only saliva came out. Nauseous and shameful, he barely kept going.

Circling around the Great Sept, he stood before the Smith, but he couldn't even beg as his own head pummeled him, showing him images of the torture he had passed his servants through, of how he had never worked for a thing in all his lives.

Stumbling, he crashed to the floor, and crept towards the Crone. Her mysterious smile appeared to turn slightly down as he looked up, illuminated by thunderbolts. Wisdom, her ideal, had been perhaps the thing Joffrey most lacked. I killed those who tried to advise me, keep me on the right path. I rejected her light at every opportunity. Joffrey would find no wisdom from her today.

Slowly crawling to the last statue, Joffrey grasped the dais were the Stranger stood. Dying again and again, Joffrey had thought he must have been under the Stranger's domain, but he now understood it was the exact opposite. Many people feared the Stranger, but his gift of death was exactly that. A gift. The end of suffering. Joffrey was anathema to everything the Stranger symbolized, he would never know the sweet embrace of death.

I am forsaken. Joffrey thought, curling up and leaning his back on the dais of the Stranger.

It was then a flash of insight, like the lightning that accompanied it rushed through his mind, a single, slowly crystalizing thought.

For the first time since he entered this place, Joffrey really saw the reality of the Sept. He filtered away the ominous darkness, the pounding rain, the enclosed yet open space.

He saw the towering, intimidating statues of the seven as they really were…

…They were statues.

The ominous feeling that had inundated Joffrey from the moment he entered through the door vanished, and he understood he was alone.

There's no one here.

This place was cold, lifeless. And the Seven would not help him… he was indeed forsaken, because the Seven did not actually exist. They. Where. Statues.

No one could help him.

The will that had kept his body moving disappeared, and Joffrey let himself go. He relaxed his muscles… his mind… and the purple swiftly moved over him.

He choked to death below the statue of the Stranger, but there was no one around to appreciate the irony.

-.PD.-

He awoke with a sight, and not a trace of the usual vomit. Joffrey would have stayed in that bed till the end of time, but something inside of him pushed him out, and he slowly put on his clothes.

Joffrey had come back… changed from the land of madness and purple. He felt he had only a small allotment of emotion to parcel around, and when that gave out an immense exhaustion took him over and he found it impossible not to lay down or sleep for the rest of the day.

The caravan moved North, following the inexorable paths of fate, and Joffrey accompanied them, only speaking when spoken to.

Again, his families reaction told him of his true nature. His mother, for all of her love for him, wouldn't help him. His fa… Robert would look confused from time to time, but he would soon find an ale to sooth it. His… father would look on as always, from a distance. His brother and sister would play joyfully and without worry when the caravan stopped.

Oddly enough, it was Tyrion who had approached him.

"Nephew" nodded the imp as he carefully walked into Joffrey's tent. Joffrey had been staring at the floor with a mug of ale, but strangely, he didn't seem startled by the sudden intrusion.

He looked at Tyrion. "Uncle" he said quietly as he took another sip from his cold ale. Tyrion took a chair and placed him in front of Joffrey's small table. He didn't stop him as the imp poured himself some ale. Tyrion waited patiently for Joffrey to break the awkward silence, but the moments stretched to minutes as he kept on sipping minute amounts of ale and staring now at the tent door.

"Nephew?" asked Tyrion. "Uncle?" responded Joffrey. Silence stretched for a while then.

The imp shook his head, and finally asked his question. "It's clear you are not enjoying this little trip. And there are days you can barely keep standing on your own feet…" said the imp, collecting his thoughts. "…Why?... Why are you barely respondent to the outside? Why do you keep yourself sequestered in this tent?" he asked with the exasperated tone of a Maester who couldn't find the answer to an obvious mathematical problem.

Joffrey seemed to genuinely ponder the question as he lazily rolled the mug in his hand. After a few minutes of silence, he shrugged.

"Why not?" he said, genuinely curious.

That answer shook Tyrion. After a few more minutes of silence, he downed his cup and exited the tent.

-.PD.-

"And this is my first borne, Ned" Said Robert as he gestured at Joffrey from the high table. The King hadn't found his increasingly elusive son when they arrived at Winterfell, so he introduced him at the feast.

Joffrey was silently picking at his food, immune to the puppy eyes Sansa kept sending his way, and any sort of distraction, really. He was just forking pieces of chicken, looking a thousand miles beyond the plate.

"He's so sad" wooed Sansa to Jeyne Poole, red flushing her face.

More than sad. That's the look of a man with nothing left to live for, thought Ned with increasing amounts of curiosity and mild alarm. "Are you sure he's… alright Robert?" he asked his old friend. Robert frowned for a second before taking another huge bite of the chicken leg he held in his hand. "Been like that for a few days, I think. He'll be fine." He chuckled as he made a move on a passing serving girl.

Ned was struck by a sudden memory, of him staring away at nothingness in the Eyrie, after receiving the news of his brother and father's death at King's Landing. He shook his head as he took a bit of chicken with his fork, trying to sooth the sudden pain that had assaulted him. Those were old wounds.

He found that he had lost his appetite, and he sighted quietly as he gazed at Joffrey.

-.PD.-

The next morning, Joffrey aimlessly wandered the outside of the main keep with a faint sense of déjà vu. His mind was almost blank when he saw Eddard Stark strolling through nearby, towards the Godswood.

A sudden, incomprehensible rage overtook him. He furiously stomped after him, entering deep into the Godswood. Joffrey quickly lost him in the tangle of trees, and had to retrace his steps to get back on the trail. Finally, he found Lord Stark kneeling in front of the heart tree, silent.

Joffrey stood there, huffing. He walked to one side of the clearing and to the next, shaking his fists. Finally, he lost it.

He screamed with all his strength at Eddard Stark, who leapt up from his knees, startled. He was at a loss for words as he eyed the Crown Prince, who was breathing heavily.

"You think they can hear you?! You think you can change the course?! There's no purpose Stark!!!" He screamed as he advanced on him, his eyes wild. Eddard seemed paralyzed by the sheer outpouring of emotion emanating from Joffrey, a gut wrenching stream of invective that seemed to feed itself on his very life and breath.

"No one can help us Stark!" he shouted in anguish at Eddard's face.

At that, the strength left him, and Joffrey crumbled on top of the light snow, weeping inconsolable.

Ned stared at the collapsed form of Joffrey in a near panic, not having a clue what was going on and what the hell he was supposed to do… so he did the only thing that came to his mind, almost a reflex, recalling a dark, stormy night when he had found a crying Arya alone on her bed.

Ned crouched and hugged Joffrey. His heaving and shaking form seemed to still itself for a microsecond, then his crying redoubled as he hugged Ned with all his strength.

-.PD.-

"Do you really hear them?" asked a red eyed Joffrey, sitting in one of the weirwood's branches.

Eddard pondered the question, sitting on another, nearby branch.

"Our Gods are not like the ones of the South, my prince." Said Ned, hesitantly. "No men can claim to hear the old gods speak, or speak in their name… but one can hear the echoes of their whispers." He said, somewhat awkwardly. Eddard was not the kind of person to simply lay out his beliefs out in the open out of a sudden, less to a stranger and even less to the man, well, boy that would someday be his liege lord, not under normal circumstances anyway.

Well, these are not normal circumstances, thought Ned, somewhat dazed.

Joffrey was completely captivated, and he leaned forward in rapt attention. "How?" he asked with painful longing. Eddard seemed to struggle with an answer, and he took his time as he mulled it in his head. He was ashamed to admit that a part of him wanted nothing else than the prince to huff in impatience and stomp away… but he could see there was no chance of that. Joffrey was still as a statue, waiting with a harrowing look as if he had nothing left to loose, the only sound coming from him was the odd sniff.

"Our minds are constantly filling us with… thoughts, memories, reflections…" Ned mused, his eyes slightly unfocused as he tried to verbalize what he felt and did when seeking the peace of the Old Gods. "It's a constant gallop, which fills our every waking moment." He said, explaining what he had felt but never really spoken of since he was but a boy, eying the great, ancient heart tree. "But when I'm here, I listen to the leaves gentle rustling… I gaze at the slow swaying of the branches… and then…"

Joffrey was staring at him, eyes red, his hands clutching one of the Weirwood's branches in a death grip. "And then?" he asked in a whisper.

Eddard considered one of the red leaves of the weirwood, which had detached itself from it with the wind, and was now gently spiraling out of the clearing.

"Everything just… stops. Your mind… is silenced." Quiet conviction colored Ned's voice as he nodded to himself. "You feel yourself let go, and your mind is cleared, as if a fog had been lifted… Those are the whispers of the Old Gods" Ned said.

"Peace" whispered Joffrey.

"Aye, peace, if only for a moment." Eddard nodded.

Joffrey stood up, and anxiously twitched his hands again and again. He gazed at Eddard with desperate, lost eyes. "Would you teach me? Please…" he asked him.

Eddard Stark didn't even consider it, he knew what he would had said had Joffrey been his son… he would do nothing else. "Aye, if you wish it." He told him.

"Thank you" whispered Joffrey as he rushed Lord Stark and hugged him like a drowning sailor hugs some floatsam.

What have they done to this boy? Thought Ned in utter befuddlement as he returned the hug and gently patted Joffrey's head, ignoring the silent, wet streaks Joffrey left on his clothes.


	9. CHAPTER 8

Chapter 8: Stumbling Steps.

Spoiler: Music

Breath… in… out… in… out…

Joffrey felt his mind clear, slowly, his thoughts leaving him with the gentle wind. For a few seconds, his inner turmoil left him, and he felt at peace.

It was not the peace of the madness that had consumed him before, but a gentle calmness that didn't drown everything else, it just… grounded him in his self, a serenity of mind that soothed him to his core.

It only lasted two seconds, and Joffrey opened his eyes as the implacable weariness grinded on top of his shoulders and inside him yet again. Nevertheless, he smiled, a genuine, if bittersweet smile.

"That one was the longest yet" He said quietly to the man beside him. Eddard's grim features softened as he nodded at Joffrey. "It's not easy… honestly I'm surprised you've stuck to it this far" said Eddard with a small smile.

Joffrey snorted. "Nothing is going to stop me from this, not even death." He said with such finality that Ned had to reassess yet again the image he had of the prince in his head. At first he had had to restrain himself, he had wanted to rush Robert and smack him in the face for being so blind, and then hand him his warhammer and go searching out who had left the Prince in such a wrecked, lifeless state.

But in the following days, were they met in the morning and at noon, Eddard had slowly started to unravel the enigma that was Joffrey Baratheon. He had quietly inquired, and it seemed the prince had been this way since a few days before they left the capital, and there were no signs of physical damage on him. And yet, the abysmal pain and weariness within Joffrey seemed to reach into his very soul. Eddard wasn't sure if he'd seen anything like it before.

They had agreed to meet here the next day after Joffrey's breakdown, and to his vague surprise the Prince had come again, and he hadn't complained, not one bit at the silence and Ned's quiet tutoring.

Still, keeping at it for too long was worse than futile. So, like the other days, Lord Stark took the small basket he had brought with him and handed Joffrey some fresh bread from the ovens along with a bit of water. He had brought watered wine the first time, but Joffrey's reaction had stopped that idea in its tracks…

"Thank you, Eddard" Said Joffrey, grateful. He had somewhat regained his composure, but there were still moments when Joffrey seemed on the edge of hysteria, and along the course of the week there had been more than one moment when Joffrey had wordlessly shrunk on himself and cried in the serene privacy of the Godswood. Eddard had done the same as he had before, walking to him and comforting him wordlessly. Joffrey had never rushed him again, but he had not protested when Ned soothed him like he had done countless times before with his own kids, some years ago. It did seem to help though, as in those occasions Joffrey would relax and the crying would give way to quiet breathing.

He hadn't pressed him for details, he had found that if he just let him speak, the words would pour out in mildly incoherent torrents, and Ned would respond to them as well as he could, which would sometimes stretch their conversations well past midday or sun down, depending.

Much to Robert's mild exasperation, and to the frankly titanic envy of Sansa, he thought ruefully.

"How…" Joffrey suddenly said, after taking a sip from the waterskin. "How can you manage… everything when… " he struggled to verbalize the swirl of emotions inside him.

There was silence as Ned thought about the question. There was nothing out of the ordinary of it, their conversations would often be very vague, and the silence between the words seemed natural in the bosom of the Godswood.

How can you manage to live on when its not worth it, translated Ned in his head. The faint, barely audible bumping of thin weirwood branches echoed in the small clearing. Once again a pang of self-doubt needled Eddard. He was no sage or Greenmen… not even close. But it was clear the Prince had no one else to help him, so Ned did as always yet again, answering truthfully from his heart, something which had been getting easier with each meeting they had here. "I think that if you can't find the worth of living on outside of yourself, then you have to search inside of you" He said, pointing to his head, then at his heart. "And that starts by… two things, I think." He mused.

Joffrey stared with mildly unfocused eyes, his head resting on the Weirwood's strong trunk. "You have to learn, to find a deep respect for yourself. Not a kind of arrogance, but an understanding that you are who you are, and that only you have the means to change yourself." He said, not sure if the Prince understood what he tried to say.

Joffrey suddenly snorted. "Self-respect…" he muttered, eying his hands with disbelief. "And the other one?" he suddenly asked.

Ned grasped one of the red weirwood leaves, slowly turning it with his fingers. "The other, I guess, is to never lose your sense of wonder." He nodded as he spoke. "Wonder at the things you see, the things you don't understand, the things you love… To never let you fall into indifference, to always experience" said Ned with quiet emphasis, "each waking moment as if it were anew."

Joffrey swallowed a lump in his throat, beginning to understand. "I see…" he said, deep in thought.

They sat there in companionable silence for a while, with only the wind and the leaves as company.

"NEEEED!" Suddenly bellowed a deep throated voice. "Stop teaching my son to talk to trees and get your butt over here! We've got a deer to kill!" said the voice.

Eddard shook his head in good natured exasperation as he stood up. "My prince, duty calls." He told Joffrey with an amused smile. Joffrey seemed midly startled as he nodded at Ned. "Yes.. yes…" he said absently.

Joffrey sat there on the werwood branch for a while longer, trying to catch pieces of whispers and thinking about Lord Starks deep words. For a man that spoke so little, the words that did leave his mouth were each precise and profound… he couldn't believe how anyone South could have thought Ned Stark was a fool.

He guessed the memory of him breaking down in front of Stark again and again would have shamed his older self so much he would have sent assassins after him, but now he found he didn't care one iota. After everything he had gone through, the idea seemed ludicrously childish.

-.PD.-

He was still digesting Lord Starks words as he exited the Godswood, and as usual every time they ended their conversations, Joffrey thought it would take him a life time or ten to fully understand their meaning.

The sudden sight of Bran Stark climbing the Broken Tower sent a deep shiver down his spine. Ice curled on his belly as he thought of how events would degenerate and break the incipient peace Joffrey was striving so hard to find within himself. And the memories of Lord Stark's painful sadness as he heard about the news of Brans fall sent odd shivers of despair throughout his body.

He suddenly dashed towards the tower's derelict door, pushing it aside and running with all his strength upwards, shouting. "Mother!! Mother!!!!! MOTHEEEEER!!!!" He screamed desperately as he reached the floor beneath the last one.

A still panting Cercei creaked open the door carefully. The sight of her trying to discreetly straighten her dress threatened Joffrey's sanity, but he pushed that aside. "Joff, sweetie, what's going on?" she asked, red faced.

Joffrey paused. "Ah, I d--, I mean, Lady… Stark is looking for you, urgently." She eyed him curiously. "Lady Stark?" she asked. "Yes! Its urgent!" he told her as he nervously twitched his fingers. "Okay sweetie." She said as she straightened and carefully opened the door so only she could get out, and then she was descending through the stairs, holding one of Joffrey's hands and making him come down too. She released him when they were outside, and when she was out of sight and he saw Bran Stark smoothly scaling down he let out a long sight of relief.

"Lannisters are all weird" muttered Bran as he walked on, not noticing Joffrey.

Can't argue with that, thought Joffrey as he laeaned back on the tower.

"JOFFREY!" screamed an angry Cercei from somewhere beyond the main keep.

Shit.

-.PD.-

Joffrey had learnt that their stay at Winterfell each life varied greatly according to F-.. Roberts whims, and Robert's whims seemed to vary each of his lives for no apparent reason. In a happy coincidence, their stay here was almost a full month, to the dismay of both his mother and Lady Stark, who eyed the prodigious amounts of food the King ate with increasing panic.

A month where Joffrey shamelessly monopolized as much time as he could take from Lord Stark. Eddard himself didn't seem too bothered about it, Joffrey suspected he had never quite had this chance to lay out his… philosophy for lack of a better word, and his children were all obsessed with everything except the deep stillness of the Godswood.

Still, all good comes to an end eventually, a fact of life that Joffrey had internalized for a while now. The caravan made its way south then, in a bit of a happier mood than other times. Bran had found a friend in little Tommen, and both of them, Lion and even sometimes Arya would play unending games each time the caravan stopped, much to Sansa's annoyance.

Speaking of Sansa, she had done her best at filling the time Eddard had left open as the King increasingly demanded his attention more and more. Joffrey, having nothing better to do, would accompany her on walks through the changing scenery of the Kingsroad.

Joffrey found she wasn't quite as stupid as he had thought before. She was just incredibly, no, monumentally naive and innocent, and Joffrey had to resist the temptation to slap her, Ned and even himself at the ludicrousness of someone as wise as Ned Stark rearing such an oblivious daughter.

Ironically, Joffrey's just as monumentally cynical mind found Sansa's happy chattering an oddly and perplexing relaxant, as they strolled through the woods and plains of the Riverlands. As they reached King's Landing he mused that Sansa was not exactly stupid, there was something deeper beneath her… he shuddered at the memory of her fainting at the death of Lord Stark, not only at the scale of cruelty he was only now, barely beginning to grasp, but at the fact that the memory still sent a tingle of pleasure when he thought of her face contorted in horror.

Memories like that would sometimes assault him when they walked, and Sansa would be left alone and confused when he awkwardly dashed off, hiding his shudders. He remembered she was not exactly without a spine either, certainly she had more than him. In one of his lives she had stabbed and killed two guards trying to escape before she was killed in turn, against impossible odds. No, not exactly stupid, he guessed she just needed a bit of prodding to get out of her self-constructed shell… An interesting enigma, one that Joffrey had not the faintest will to investigate.

Still, Sansa fulfilled a breathtaking need for human contact Joffrey hadn't known he possessed, aching deep inside him. He was self-conscious of approaching Lord Eddard with that again, and the thought of being held by his mother and her golden locks brought forth memories that made him want to puke. He had found that just holding Sansa's hand as they walked drastically reduced the amount of nightmares he would have every night, and her curiously strong grip on his hand sent odd flutters in his stomach that Joffrey had trouble identifying.

Even with the their shortened time, he still met with Lord Stark in secluded locations, and their conversations still left Joffrey pondering and thinking deep into the night. To his surprise, when they arrived at the capital, he found out he didn't want to be back here again at all.

-.PD.-

"It seems we have a new player in town" mused Varys aloud as he ambled through the empty throne room, engaging in one of his favorite past times these days… exchanging subtle barbs, wit, and even gleanings of useful information with what had been up to now his only real rival in the game... and today the barbs were sinking into poor Petyr in such a delightful way.

"Yeeesss… It seems we have severely underestimated Lord Stark" said Littlefinger's oddly raspish voice, apparently unconcerned, walking beside Varys. "A delightful turn of events, don't you think, Lord Baelish? Things had been getting a bit dull over here, but a formidable new player certainly lightens things up" Said Lord Varys, good naturedly.

Baelish shifted a bit, uncomfortable and trying to hide it from Varys keen eyes. "I'm sure the reports are exaggerated" he said, trying to convince himself more than Varys. "Oh but I saw them just today, cruel, spiteful Prince Joffrey following Lord Stark around with the look of an adopted puppy" Varys said with relish. "Two months and he is not already the friend of the King, but has the ear of the next one too… he works quite fast, our Hand… I thought, given your past experience with Starks, that the family in particular boasted of other… skills." Varys twisted with happy abandon as he subtly gazed at the scar that popped out of Littlefinger's doublet.

Lord Baelish couldn't contain himself and a small shudder went through his chest and the old wound that lay there. "Yes, the Stark are… full of surprises" he said, subtly eying the door. For Varys he might as well have been screaming to let him go. He nodded magnanimously "Until next time, Lord Baelish"

Baelish nodded back "Lord Varys" he said as he quickly fled the room. Varys had to contain a little giggle as he kept walking. Moments like this made the Great Game so worth playing.

-.PD.-

Despite Lord Stark's numerous demands on his time as Hand of, now that Joffrey thought about it, a very absent King, he still found time to guide Joffrey every couple of days, and though the Red Keep's Godswood was a very poor copy of the great Godswood of Winterfell, Joffrey found out it served its purpose well enough. His lone meditations by the heart tree every morning had been doing wonders for his fractured psyche, and he felt "recharged" every morning thanks to it. When he missed it for whatever reason, he would find himself slowly reverting to the despairing wreck of before… something that obviously Joffrey wanted no part off.

He also stared to apply some of Lord Stark's wisdom on his daily routine. While the thought of "respecting" himself was for some reason so funny it bordered on hysteria, his words about never loosing his… "wonder"… had helped immeasurably in centering back together the various scattered bits of his personality…

He knew that what had come back from the madness was not exactly what had gone there in the first place, for instance he was a lot shyer around people for some reason, but he didn't care that much about it. Instead, he let himself rediscover simple pleasures that curiously enough hadn't been at all prominent on his first life.

He started early in the morning meditating in the Godswood, were his still raw and somewhat shaky mind slowly pieced itself back together after the nightmares he'd had that night. Then, he'd spar with the hound, though this time with minimal training armor as the pain of the wooden swords that had seemed so intense lifetimes ago now felt more like a tickle for some reason. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. Still, the exercise left him in a good mood, something rare this past, oh fifty years Joffrey reckoned. That would have been reason in and of itself to keep training, the Hound grudgingly telling him he was a slightly better than the average solider from a destitute keep was just an added bonus.

He'd lunch with Lord Stark and his family whenever he could, which was most of the time, much to Eddard's hidden enjoyment. He'd really grown to like their conversations, and the thought of having serious, meaningful conversation that didn't involve pulled hair and thrown food seemed a godsend to Eddard, or at least that was how it looked to Joffrey. Sansa too would greet him joyfully enough, which often confused him. What had he ever done to earn such admiration? He reckoned that, beside his rank, he had literally nothing going for him, besides maybe the stereotypical Lannister good looks, and even that he doubted. To be the subject of such undeserved devotion kind of freaked him out now.

Arya mostly looked at him curiously with a kind of intense stare, trying to find more things to tease Sansa about, he suspected.

By far the most uncomfortable of the bunch was Bran Stark, who eyed him with deep suspicion and unease, always vigilant. Bran had made fast friends with Tommen, and his little brother had most likely been feeding horrid tales to Bran for a while now. He didn't blame him, probably in Tommen's mind he was just preparing a subtle and cruel prank to play on everyone, which, from his perspective would be the most probable thing that should happen these days.

After lunch he would often read at the royal library, though the heavy tomes the imp seemed to favor were a bit too much for him. It was especially gratifying if that mornings bout with the hound had been more tiring than usual, it made the relaxed reading, basking in the afternoon sunlight by the royal library's balcony all the more enjoyable. He mostly read somewhat lighter tomes such as the tales of the dragon knight or other, more accessible books. He suspected he was just starting to develop the skill, and that it was as underdeveloped as his pathetic swordsmanship had been in his first life. It was a rather depressing thought.

After that, the late afternoon would be "free". He'd walk through the busy streets of Kings Landing, just watching, learning about the city he was supposed to rule. He'd go through the street of steel and watch the constant pounding of hammers on swords or tools, or the Street of Silk, where he'd enjoy watching the wares, though he never partake, it brought memories of pounding hearts and deep chest pains better left buried. Sometimes he'd walk with the imp, enjoying their discussions that, granted, were of a decidedly more practical and amusing nature than Lord Starks, but had their own kind of wisdom. Again, things Joffrey had never considered before seemed obvious to his uncle, and yet again he felt like an infant grasping basic meanings. His "sense of wonder" as Stark put it, was certainly getting a work out, and Joffrey found he thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Sometimes he would muse about what lay beyond the Capital and the Seven Kingdoms…

At night he would sometimes talk, well, more like listen to Sansa's tales of knights and chivalry, something that, to his mild horror, he was able to make descent conversation about thanks to the books he had been reading. He would eat then with his "family", who was the only downer to an otherwise nice day. He didn't know if this life had left everyone sloppier or he was just a bit more perceptive this time around, but the constant death glares Cercei shot Robert, Robert's frequent passes at serving girls, and his brother and sister's silent eating left a stifling and oppressive atmosphere on his mouth. When his, father, was taking his turn guarding the family, Joffrey lost most of his appetite and wouldn't even make it to the main dish before excusing himself. Seeing his progenitors together in the same room awakened deep-… something wrong with you Joffrey..—better left buried too.

-.PD.-

Months passed by in this happy state of affairs, and Joffrey gradually felt the unending despair lifting off his shoulders, slowly.

Tension had, nevertheless, been rising amongst the Lannisters and the Starks. He didn't know what was the cause this time, but he could see it in the way Lord Stark's household guard tighten their hands on their pommels every time a Redcloak passed by, or in the way his… father smirked disdainfully when he saw the Northmen.

He had been with Lord Stark one day in the early morning, talking as usual, when Eddard finally brought up the question which must have been plaguing him for a long time. "Joffrey…" He had finally managed to rid him of the constant "My Prince", which had been getting tedious by the time they arrived at the Capital. "I know you don't like to speak of it, but… I think there something deeply inside of you, I don't know, something that's eating you away, would you--" he had suddenly stopped when he saw Joffrey staring at the ground.

"There's something deeply wrong with you Joffrey" Echoed Ned Starks moribund voice inside his head.

"…Joffrey" asked Ned, confused.

His hands were shaking, and he was breathing harder than usual.

"I-…I have to go. Lord Stark" he nodded quickly as he trotted off.

He run through the Red Keep, finally stopping at a section of the wall that seemed deserted.

Haven't had one of this for a while. He thought as he leaned a bit and crouched down. The shakes where not nearly as bad as last time, but it still sent painful memories reeling through his mind.

Think of the weirwood, gentle swaying, slow winds.

He was returning slowly from it, but the thing that really snapped him out of it was the reassuring grip on his hand. He turned back, somewhat dazed.

"Sansa?" he asked, confused. "Its o-okay" she said with only a hint of doubt as she gently took his hand again, with both of hers. "You d-don't have to--" he spluttered, but she interrupted him. "Its okay" she said again as she looked towards the sea. Joffrey said nothing as he looked in the same direction, watching the dawn. The strong, warm grip on his hand seemed to push his demons away, and Joffrey found himself letting out a long breath he didn't know he had been holding.

When he calmed down the imp screamed in his head to say his courtesies. "Ah, thank you milady" he said awkwardly. Sansa just smiled demurely as he looked at him then promptly kept staring at the ocean, the morning sun lighting her hair in an odd way. He was feeling very confused again, but this time in a somehow good way… very confused…

Of course, he had somehow stupidly forgotten this was fucking Westeros.

The bells inside the Red Keep tolled… and they didn't stop. The pounding sound started to spread out throughout the area, and Joffrey paled.

I know that sound.

"Get behind me Sansa!" he told her as he took out his dagger. "Joffrey?" she asked in confusion and mild alarm. "Lets move, follow me" he told her as he grabbed her hand and trotted back down the wall's staircase. In the courtyard the Red Cloaks had closed the gates and everyone seemed to be dashing somewhere in a haste, many of them seeming to search for something or someone… and some of them seemed to be going to the Stark's residence.

Oh no.

He run after them, never letting go of Sansa as they passed the doors. He stopped at the strange scene ahead of him. Several Redcloakes had surrounded soldiers of the Stark household guards, which had drawn swords. When they saw him one of the shouted "Let 'er go Lannister!".

"That's the Prince you're speaking to!" Snarled one of the Redcloaks. Everyone tensed up as Joffrey snarled in frustration. "What's going on damnit!" he asked the Stark guard. "Is the King dead?!"

The guard seemed confused for a moment as he grunted. "The King?! What are you talking about?" he said. Sansa here leapt to the fore, "Let us through Lewin!" she told him. Some of the tension left them as they lowered their swords a bit. Sansa was the one guiding him as she shoveled through the guards, carrying Joffrey behind her. She seemed in a near panic as the both of them followed the line of Stark Guardsman and servants that seemed to come and go from a single direction.

They stopped outside Bran Starks room, where grim faced guards stood watch and a few servants cried in the corner. "M' lady… you shouldn't.." stumbled one of the guards, but Sansa was not listening to him, a mounting horror clear in her face as she entered the room, Joffrey right behind her.

On his blood soaked bed, the body of Bran Stark stared blankly at the ceiling. He had multiple stab wounds on his chest, and his direwolf was feasting on the remains of a man in the floor, his hand tightly clutching a dagger.

That wasn't me, thought Joffrey, disconcerted.

It was then Lord Stark entered the room, and somehow let out a wordless, soundless scream of disbelief and horror.

-.PD.-

Things had only gone downhill from there, and at a furious velocity. A few days later Jory Cassel, Eddards Guard Captain had been killed under dubious circumstances in some kind of bar fight, and a day later a Redcloak was found dead at his guard post. Brandon Stark's assassin had taken the name of his benefactor to the grave, or rather to Summer's stomach. In typical Westerosi fashion, King Robert had fallen ill due to some bug on his food and Pycell apparently had him up to the gills with milk of the poppy.

Things had been very somber those days, and he hadn't been able to talk to any of the Starks. He dreaded what he knew was to come now.

-.PD.-

Sure enough, he was woken up by his mother in the middle of the night. "Come on sweetie, its time you assume your rightful place" she told him as hurried servants dressed him. "Mother, what happened?!" he asked as they almost rushed towards the throne room. "Your Father's pain is gone and he finally rests in peace." She told him soothingly as she practically pushed him on top of the iron throne. The room was lit by numerous torches, and the Kingsguard was already there, 6 white cloaks arraying itself around the throne. Redcloaks quickly stormed through the room and arrayed themselves in two protective blocks of ten in front of the Kingsguard.

It's happening fucking again, he thought desperately.

Soon after that, the main doors opened, and Lord Stark entered the room, followed closely behind by Lord Baelish who seemed way, way more nervous than past times, anxiously swiveling to Lord Stark's back and then to Cercei, as if trying to convince himself of something. With Stark entered a portion of his guard, must have been more than 30 men. And of course, Slynt and a sizable contingent of Goldcloaks marched by the Northmen's flanks, something which would surely again prove to be a fatal mistake. Even Varys was looking more interested than last time.

The multitude of armed men stared at each other with barely repressed hostile intent. Joffrey swallowed a lump. It all goes to shit after this… again.

"Bend the knee Lord Stark, and you will be allowed to return to the grey waste that you call your home, back with your trees" she sneered. "I want to be crowned within the fortnight" Joffrey almost blurted out of sheer reflex. I just can't catch a fucking break.

Instead of immediately handing the letter, Eddard seemed to doubt for a bit, his face contorting in strange angles. The silence stretched for a bit as he stared at Joffrey. Joffrey nodded at him tiedly "Just do what you think is right… Ned." At this Eddard seemed to compose himself, and took out a letter. "Ser Barristan, no man alive here could question your honor." He said.

Ser Barristan took the letter respectfully and went back to his post. "King Robert's seal, unbroken." He said for all to hear. "I, King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, hereby name Lord Eddard Stark Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm until my son Joffrey comes of age".

His mother leaned forward. "Ser Barristan, if--" Joffrey interrupted her abruptly. Not this time, fate.

"Ser Barristan, pass me the letter please." Cercei seemed mildly shocked as Ser Barristan swiveled and gave it to him instead. Joffrey took his time as he read the short but powerful parchment.

After what seemed an eternity to the soldiers everywhere, Joffrey folded the letter carefully and put it in his pocket. "The orders of my late F-Father are clear, come and assume your rightful position, Lord Stark." He said with a deep calmness. No more senseless deaths, fuck the game.

From here he could see how the blood seemed to flee Lord Baelish's head, and Varys actually smirked. The various soldiers stared at each other in confusion. Eddard himself seemed a bit shaken, and conflicting emotions warred within him as he took a tentative step forward.

Bet the fuckers didn't expect that.

"Lord Baelish!" Screeched his mother. Eddard turned back and eyed Baelish in confusion as Littlefinger took a small step back, mixed awe and horror clouding his face as he gazed at Lord Stark "..you..knew" Baelish blabbered before snapping out of it. "C-Commander Slynt!" he shouted. Slynt shook his own head, lowered his helmet and bellowed.

"MEN OF THE WATCH!"

With a roar the Goldcloaks lowered their spears and charged the Stark men, who had already been watching them and edging away. Both forces met in brutal melee, and despite having a bit of a warning this time it was obvious the Stark men would not be able to hold off for long. Baelish took out a small dagger in panic and tried to stab Lord Stark as he was in the process of drawing his longsword, facing him down.

"SER BARRISTAN!" Joffrey all but screamed. "PROTECT THE LORD REGENT!"

"Aye your Grace" Selmy said as he drew his sword without hesitation, gliding forward with some kind of unhurried stride that seemed to eat distance faster than a sprint, brutally stabbing a Goldcloak through the back. "What are you waiting for?! Help your Lord Commander!" Joffrey bellowed at the rest of the Kingsguard. The 5 heavily armored knights (Jaime wasn't there) were startled out of their confusion and promptly charged the Goldcloaks, or at least tried.

"NO! Guards, hold them!" shouted Cercei. One befuddled Redcloak followed the order a bit too far as he stabbed Ser Meryn Trant through his visor with a dagger. The other Kingsguards drew their swords and started chopping up Redcloaks and the melee below descended into an unrecognizable madness.

Joffrey promptly leapt out of the throne and charged down with his piddling dagger, ignoring his mother's frantic commands. "Joffrey don't-!" but he was already through. His smaller size and lack of armor helped him dash between the combatants quickly, although the situation had kind of descended into an indistinct free for all, and the wild, blind swinging and stabbing were taking a toll on his unarmored body as he run through the madness. He saw a Redcloak slashing down a Goldcloak, a Stark men being killed by a Kingsguard and even two Goldcloaks fighting between themselves. It was pure, distilled chaos.

Although the pressure of so many fighting men confined to a relatively small space was overwhelming, Joffrey finally managed to get to the center. There he spotted Lord Stark, who was clutching several bloody spear wounds all over his body and surrounded by dead Goldcloaks… and Baelish. It seemed Baelish, for all his political skills wasent that good a figther, he lay on the floor gutted like a fish from neck to hip, a permanent rictus of horror and fear etched on his still factions.

"Eddard!" shouted Joffrey as he grabbed one of his arms, trying to share his weight, a weight that was rapidly becoming heavier. "Joffrey" whispered Ned as his legs gave out. Both of them crashed on the floor, and Joffrey found out not all of the blood pooling around them was Eddard's… it was also his. "I-I S-should have… done… nothing… it was all… so fast…" Eddard blabbered incoherently, each time weaker. "Hold on you bloody fool!" hissed Joffrey desperately as he looked around him for help, but there was only the wild, disorganized melee around them. "Joffrey" Eddard suddenly said as he grabbed Joffrey's arm in a steel grip. "There's… something… deeply inside of you…" muttered Stark, and Joffrey felt his blood freeze solid as an old, titanic despair made itself felt again on his belly, and memories of old lives and blood assaulted his mind, memories of Lord Stark being disemboweled to death.

"Deeply inside… of you… a good heart…" muttered Eddard, his eyes half closed. "What?!" screeched Joffrey as he felt tears suddenly welling on his eyes. Every half breath Ned's voice came out shallower. "You… just… have… to… use… it…" he whispered, but his eyes were already closed, "…you--" but he couldn't finish as he seemed to exhale for the last time.

Joffrey stared at Lord Stark's increasingly blurry body, and let out a shrill roar. He jumped back on his feet with his dagger, and charged the nearest blurry soldier like a madman. He felt his rage consume him as he fought and fought and fought until he was suddenly on the floor again, and the purple began to encase him.

He raged at the unfairness of it all before his neck started to wreath again, and his nerves flared in purple agony.

-.PD.-

The Hound was guarding the little shit's room when a sudden, ragefull scream startled him out of his spot on the wall. He drew his longsword as he smashed into the door shoulder first but… there was no assassin.

Joffrey was pacing around the room grabbing stuff and throwing it away in a rage that the Hound didn't think Joffrey had been capable of. This didn't look like one of his usual tantrums… at all. His face was vaguely disfigured as his puny muscles strained, and he tossed the chest down the room. "Fuck Littlefinger!" he shouted. The Hound was beffudled as he thought about what the hell was going on. "Fuck Varys! Fuck mother! Fuck Tywin and fuck Stannis" he shouted as he paced and paced. "Fuck the Game! Fuck the Throne! Fuck Westeros! Fuck em AAAAALLL!!!" bellowed Joffrey with all his might, pushing the rage out of him like a physical force.

The Hound had been slightly nodding at those last statements in grim approval without noticing, but then Joffrey stopped. "… They want it so much? They can FUCKING have it!" he screamed at no one in particular. "That lump of rusted steel has brought on nothing but death, pain and misery!"

Suddenly he gazed at the Hound with a considering and slightly maniacal look.

"Hound… say… how is Lys this time of the year?"

The Hound looked dismayed


	10. CHAPTER 9

_Chapter 9: Family.__"Did you check on the stables? Or the kitchens perhaps?!" Accused an exasperated Cercei, verbally smashing the poor servant to the ground. "I did my queen! He's not there!" Said the somewhat fearful servant as they walked through the Red Keeps Hallways. Damned incompetents, Cercei thought as she made her way towards Joffrey's room. He was probably right there and had told the servants not to tell her… Her Joffrey was feared, as it should be, as every King should be.__But when she entered his room, she found nothing except a small parchment lying on the cupboard. Recognizing it as Joffrey handwriting, she gave it a look. Her face turned paler and paler the more she read it.__The "Game of Thrones" and, really, the entirety of this godsforsaken continent is a monumental deathtrap waiting to maim, traumatize and kill any and all so called "players", innocents, smallfolks, lords, kings, everyone, at a moment's notice. It is with that thought in mind I hereby renounce my claim to the throne and leave the intrigue and power games of the Seven Kingdoms in the capable hands of you players, may you literally choke on it. I'm off to Lys to live the good life, I'm sure Robert will be proud. So long!__PD: I took the Hound with me, I'm sure Tywin won't mind.__The parchment slipped her fingers as she screamed "SER BARRISTAN!!!"__-.PD.-__The seas splashed across the Swift Winds as the cog bullied through the unusually stormy waters of the Narrow Sea. The Hound was standing stoically on the bridge, but his charge… well…__"BLLLRRRRGHHHGHGGHOUUUUUUUUUUUGHHHH" Said Joffrey, or tried to say as todays hurriedly eaten breakfast made a jump for it out of Joffrey's mouth. Strangely, he would have expected, well had actually expected Joffrey to desist in his madness and mewl out the command to return to King's Landing at the first vomit, raging at the disgusting turn of events.__This one had been the sixth… in the hour. He did not say a word besides the gurgling, in fact he actually smiled through his dirty teeth. "This… This is what life should be Hound." He said between gasps, not even minding his own vomit as he looked to the sea. "Free, unbound to die a pointless death… Free from obligation and madness and… and….--" His epiphany was interrupted by another bout of projectile vomit.__Sandor just shook his head. He'd very nearly tossed the mad brat back to Robert when he actually took a couple of purses full of golden dragons, a bastard sword, prayed to the Old Gods in the gods wood, penned his abdication to the most powerful realm in Planetos and strolled down to the docks like he was taking a stroll through the King's wood.__"Hound" he had said with such seriousness he had never seen before coming from him. "I'm doing this one way or the other" he said with such conviction he had believed him fully. "Now, you can either explain to Tywin why I got killed in a random alleyway in the free cities without an escort, or you can come with me" he said.__Damned kid. The Queen is not going to like this… not one bit.__Oblivious to his thoughts, Joffrey puked again at the uncaring sea.__-.PD.-__"Ahh, Lys! The most beautiful of the Free Cities! You made the right choice coming here young lord!" Said the ships captain as the cog slowed, making its way through calm waters to the dockyards. Saying Lys was beautiful was like saying water was wet. The city rose smoothly from the long, shallow beaches, its buildings rising like a continuation of the beautiful bright yellow sand. Joffrey could see people on the beaches, bathing or laying luxuriously on smooth blankets, feasting on olives and wines. Several of those were naked woman, something that pleased Joffrey, though the fact maybe half of them had chains on their necks was a bit of a downer. Like any born and raised Westerosi he disliked the practice of slavery. Besides, hadn't uncle Tyrion said once that a free man worked twice as hard as a slave?__The city stretched over several islands, but its luxurious, paradise-like demeanor didn't mean the city was not dangerous. Its great walls and powerful navy (said to be second only to the Braavosi, though Volantis disputed that claim) defended the island itself, while trouble makers were liable to find themselves poisoned with one of the many fine venoms the city had to offer.__Like the Strangler. Whispered a corner of his mind. He'd almost demanded the Captain to change course once he discovered the substance was originally made here in Lys… But in the end it didn't matter. Ironically, Joffrey thought he was less likely to be poisoned here than he was on Westeros. Besides, ever since his descent into madness… pain didn't register as hard anymore, for some reason. Sure the purple was painful and horrible… but it didn't elicit the same despair and demi madness that it had evocated before… he wasn't sure that was a good thing.__He was startled out of his musings with a jolt as the ship bumped against the dockyards, gleeful sailors jumping down and tying them together, trying to get the job done as fast as they could. After seeing the otherworldly beauties on the beach, he couldn't say he blamed them.__Joffrey and the Hound descended through the plank, the hound carrying his relatively small travel chest. "We made it Hound! Free at last from that hellhole they call the Seven Kingdoms!" he said gleefully as he rubbed his hands together. "Eddard had it right you know, I'm going to experience the shit out of these moments!" he said in expectant anticipation. The hound huffed, shaking his head. "Huh? You think you're not going to? Hound, why did you think I brought two huge bags of gold" he said with a wink.__The hound couldn't close his gaping mouth as the spirit that had hijacked Joffreys body laughed. "Come on, let's find a place to sleep and let's get started!!!" He said merrily as he walked down the pier into Lys the beautiful.__Damned kid, thought Sandor as he rushed after him.__-.PD.-__The three days that followed were full of debauchery and decadence. They said that Lys was god for you as long as you had coin, and that as soon as that run out you were liable to get poisoned if you stayed too long.__Fortunate for Joffrey, he had brought plenty of gold.__All three days had passed in a drunken haze where Joffrey sampled all of the liquor in the city, and rutted with (but did not have sex) with more prostitutes than he'd ever seen before. Uncle Tyrion would definitely be proud.__He had wanted to forget everything about his, hopefully, former life. He envisaged a decade's stay at Lys, by which point his funds would no longer be a concern because hopefully the debauchery would kill him before his purse run out. Though he did have in mind a particular memory he didn't want to forget… one he wanted to finish.__He had been saving his virginity for tonight. He'd had preferred the original circumstances and not this poor facsimile, but, well, getting to that particular point on his standard life was not only distasteful but also liable to get him killed even before he reached said destination.__"I want you to respond to Maergery" he told the golden-chestnut haired beauty as she seductively closed the door and stalked towards him.__"Of course, my lord." She said, sultrily unbuttoning his shirt. "Good" muttered Joffrey as she tugged him to the enormous silk bed. He let his imagination run wild as they both collapsed into the bed, kissing and tumbling for position. He tried to imagine his future/past wife as best as he could… her timid but intelligent eyes, that anchor like emotional fortitude that promised to ground him, that bewilderingly bright red hair…__"Sansa…" he muttered as she unbuttoned his pants. She stopped their kissing to giggle "But I thought I was named Maergery?" she asked in mock hurt. Joffrey snapped out of his trance like state like he'd crashed against a steel wall. "I did" He said, confused, trying to make sense of the bittersweet longings he felt on his suddenly weak feeling right hand.__The Hound suddenly opened the room's door, breaking his incipient introspection.__"Gods, Hound!" screeched Joffrey. "Didn't they teach you how to knock?!" he asked exasperated. The Hound just shook his head "Playtime's over Joffrey" he said in a mildly apologetic tone.__"Wha--" he started, but the question died on his throat as Ser Barristan Selmy roughly pushed his way past the Hound and entered the room, followed by pissed looking red cloaks. "Time to come home my prince, the King and Queen are not pleased" huffed Ser Barristan, seemingly exasperated… maybe Lys doesn't agree with him.__Joffrey eyed the door, and the chair beside it which contained his sword, coin and clothes. Then he looked at the men blocking said door. Finally he looked at the window.__He stood up with all the dignity he could muster as the prostitute scurried away… all the dignity he had wearing just his trousers anyway. He nodded at the men. "Ser Barristan… you forgot one thing." he said smugly as he looked behind the old kingsguard. Ser Barristan, the red cloaks and even the Hound all looked behind them, but just saw a plain (as plain as it could be in the luxurious brothel), regular wall.__"Wha-" started Ser Barristan but he choked off when he saw the Prince jumping through the window.__He landed on top of a cart carrying cabbages, of all things. The shock of the landing stole the air from his lungs as he tumbled out of the cart, bruising himself in the rock paved road. He looked up and saw the disbelieving face of Ser Barristan, only to duck out and quickly command the red cloaks to get him!__Fuck that! Joffrey shouted in his mind as he dashed down the streets, hurriedly buttoning his trousers. Thank the old gods he had been so excited with the whore he hadn't taken off his shoes!__He heard tumbling and cursing sounds behind him, so he doubled his speed and took off into a random alleyway. He skipped and dodged people fucking each other in the alley corners and the shady looking men exchanging bags of gold. He emerged into the other street only to tumble with a surprised looking red cloak.__"M'pri--" he never finished before Joffrey socked him right in the jaw and sent him tumbling back. He suppressed a loud "OUCH", rubbing his hand sore fist with his trousers as he took off downhill. He barely saw where he was going before he crashed against a man with his arms folded in front of him.__The man barely grunted while Joffrey's momentum made him bounce back almost a full 2 meters. Dazed, he looked up and saw a tall, somehow thin but still stoic looking man, who was observing him with amusement, one hand resting on his rapier.__Behind him, several sailors were loading crates into a sleek looking ship, laughing and talking between themselves…__He had made it to the docks.__"Take me with you" he blurted at the tall, stoic man.__You gotta get your shit together Joffrey! Way to start the conversation asshole!__The man didn't seem annoyed, more like amused really. "Oh? And why should I?" he said with honest curiosity. His voice had an iron tinge to it that vaguely reminded him of his supposed uncle Stannis, though there were laugh lines on the man's face that seemed to indicate something kinder was hidden behind that iron discipline… unlike Stannis.__"I--" He couldn't tell him he would be rewarded because his grandfather owned all the gold in the Westerlands, or that his supposed father was the King of Westeros. Besides being counterproductive, Joffrey realized his whole life had been propelled on by those two safe facts.__My father will give you a lordship, my grandfather will give you gold, my mother will have you flogged. Never had someone in Joffrey's whole life given him something because he was just who he was. Only because of his position and family…__Fuck that!__Problem is, Joffrey thought, take that away and he was a pretty useless lump of dead weight.__"I can help!" he blurted. The man had been patiently waiting for his explanation and he raised one thick eyebrow at that.__Joffrey looked down to his only possessions: a pair of ruined fine shoes and his ripped trousers… this was going to be hard. He took a deep breath. "I can help in any way you deem necessary, I don't know much about ships, but I will do whatever labor you want, and I can also handle myself with a bastard sword if you got any, I could help out in a fight with that. The only thing I ask is room and board, nothing else." he released a deep breath as he blurted his piece, accelerating at the end because of a growing ruckus behind him in the quays.__His head swiveled from the man and back to the dock entrance where he could spy red cloaks searching for him everywhere. The man however seemed to be taking his sweet time digesting what Joffrey had said.__He seemed to eye the red cloaks for a moment before gazing back at Joffrey. "You are being chased" he said, matter of factly.__Fuck, its over, he thought. Something told him this man would appreciate honesty instead of honeyed words (not that Joffrey was capable of them anyway). He decided to answer even though the tone wasn't that of a question.__"Yes"__"Did you kill or steal anything?" he asked him with eyes that seemed to bore on him like catapults. "What? No!" he replied vehemently. Well, at least not in this life, he thought ruefully. He was already turning his back, wondering if he could swim across the harbor and loose his pursuers in the poor districts when the man's iron voice spoke behind him in a measured tone.__"I'll expect hard and honest work. Complain or make trouble and I'll drop you on the nearest port. Got it?" he said.__"Got it" he blurted almost against his will. The man's face lightened up fractionally "Head on in, we depart in an hour." He said as he turned his back and started haranguing the men to load faster.__Joffrey stood there paralyzed for a few seconds until the shouting of pissed off Lys city guards confronting the red cloaks made him scramble through the plank and enter the fast looking cog.__-.PD.-__It had looked fast alright. The Eastern Winds seemed to glide above the thundering waves, seemingly aching to just dispense with the water all together and fly like the dragons of old every time she leapt out of a swell. It was beautiful to see.__Or, well, it would have been, had Joffrey not been puking his guts out as he scrubbed and scrubbed. "You'll never finish scrubbing the deck if you keep on vomiting all over it, my friend" Said Baleo in passable, if heavily accented common tongue. His long trimmed mustache was somehow repelling the sea water that splashed around with every wave, and Joffrey felt a pinch of jealousy as he touched his salty blond hair.__Joffrey finally gave in and slapped the sponge down, laying back on his haunches and letting out a long sight. The sea sickness had been gradually fading away, but wasn't fading away fast enough... the occasional vomit still had the tendency to ambush him at the worst moment. Still, he hadn't thought in a million years that being a servant was so damned boring. No, boring didn't cover it enough, call it mind numbing. He had been wiping this deck for the past week and there was no end in sight. He briefly eyed the man who had let him in, Captain Nakaro Faenys. He was standing serenely on the bridge, one hand on the tiller, and he seemed to be gazing at Joffrey. He was testing him somehow, he was sure of it. He would sometimes catch him staring at him with an infuriatingly prevalent knowing smirk, as if thinking and figuring out all of Joffrey's secrets.__He was suddenly assaulted by the deep desire to toss the sponge his way and demand they sail to King's Landing--__My Grandfather can make you rich…__My Father can reward you…__My Mother will flog you…__No.__He was going to make something out of himself, even if he ended up scrubbing freaking decks for the rest of this life, he was going to be something that stood on its own, not because of his gods forsaken murdering family.__Not that he had a choice really. He didn't have a copper penny to his name.__He grabbed the sponge again.__-.PD.-__The days seem to pass very fast. Joffrey was on cleaning duty for a whole 2 weeks. The steady gaze of the Captain had been waiting for him to crack, waiting for him to complain or something. He didn't give him the joy.__He worked hard and mindlessly, until one morning when he made his way to the cargo hold in search for his bucket and sponge, he found the Captain there.__They had stared at each other for a while before Captain Nakaro had gestured at him. He followed Nakaro to his room, were there where several nautical charts and maps, detailing the trade winds of the Narrow and Shivering, amongst others. The Captains room had various knickknacks that Nakaro had most likely obtained on his frequent journeys around Planetos. He could spy fine silks and sea shells, various precious metals, antlered heads of beasts he had never seen or heard of, and many more…__It was, Joffrey realized with a strange pang of longing and jealousy, the room of a man who had likely lived his life to the fullest… and if not, then had at least made a good showing of himself.__They stared at each other for a while before Nakaro took a bottle of Myr Brandy, serving it on two bronze cups. They had strange markings on the side, depicting a picturesque jungle the like of which Joffrey had never seen, and the base of the cup had strange, twisting symbols he did not know the meaning of.__He sipped the brandy carefully, and though it was true the man could have gotten him killed any time now had he wanted it, some habits had by now firmly entrenched themselves on Joffrey's psyche.__"I've been watching you for the past few weeks, and I've got to admit I'm somewhat curious" he said in vaguely accented common tongue. "You have the hands of a man who has not pulled heavy work once in his lifetime… or at least, you had them" he added with a slight chuckle. "But I digress, you are an enigma, Prince Joffrey." Joffrey choked for a bit with the brandy, which ended in a coughing fit. "Don't be so surprised, it was not hard to tie the knots" he said amiably while serving more brandy.__"How did you guess?" Asked Joffrey, trying to keep his cool. If he gets me to King's Landing they will never let me out of their sights again, I'lbe trapped there in their little games till something backfires and I end up dead at best or … I don't want to even think about the worst.__"Connecting the rumors of the runaway prince coming from the west, with a blonde young man running from a Kingsguard in Lys, well… it wasn't the most perplexing mystery I've ever seen.__Joffrey thought about King's Landing again. No… better a clean death and a fresh start. He was already considering how he could get his dagger and kill himself before Nakaro could move.__Nakaro just smiled enigmatically. "Relax, Joffrey. I'm not handing you back to them unless you want to." Joffrey's gaze leapt from his crude dagger's pommel back to Nakoro's face. "What!?" he blurted.__Nakaro's voice took a slightly ominous voice, and a more forceful Braavosi accent "You can't escape from your destiny boy, it is like running from ones shadow, it will always find you, and if you don't confront it first, you will only make it worse. You will only delay the inevitable… There is no escaping." He said solemnly, and Joffrey stared at the change of demeanor in slight anxiety.__Then Nakaro cracked a smile. "That's what my father used to say, shows how much the old bastard knew…" His smile turned into a smirk. "I've been 'running from my destiny' for 35 years, and I'd say I'm just fine. I've lived a long and happy life, and Destiny can go crawl back to the hell it spawned from." He said.__Now, that was a sentiment Joffrey could definitely get behind for, far more than the man likely knew.__Somewhat more relaxed now, Joffrey took another sip before asking. "So, what does that all mean right now?"__"Nothing" Nakaro simply said. "No one said running from your destiny was, in any way, easier than confronting it… just a lot more satisfying." He said with his trademark, knowing smirk again. "You are an enigma, Prince Joffrey. Yet you are willing to work hard and do it with the best of your ability. You will keep working on this ship, for a reasonable pay, and I will treat you like any other of my crew members, no more, no less. Is that acceptable to you?" he said while gently re arranging a map of the Jade Sea trade routes.__Joffrey swallowed before answering. "It is" he said with a nod.__"Good" Said Nakaro. After a moment of silence, he eyed Joffrey in mild confusion. "I thought there was a deck you were supposed to be scrubbing?"__Joffrey stood up, startled. "Yes… Captain" he said. It grated on him to follow orders, it had always been like that. But for once, taking them from someone he was starting to respect made a lot to sooth the part of his mind that was demanding he (or rather his mother) flogged him.__Besides, anything was better than returning to that snake pit that is King's Landing.__-.PD.-__Weeks turned into months as the Eastern Winds glided through the Narrow Sea, far faster than any trading cog had a right to do, if Joffrey's admittedly poor knowledge of ships was to be trusted. When he asked Baleo about it, he had snorted disdainfully.__Joffrey and the squat Braavosi had made fast friends over the last weeks, though Joffrey thought it had more to do with their shared torment of cleaning everything under the sun instead of his own golden personality.__"We are not a mere trading cog, my friend" he said while they were tying a piece of rigging that had snapped off in a mild storm a day before. Well, Baleo was actually doing the work, Joffrey was 'apprenticing' with him by the Captains orders, so that Joffrey's incompetence with sailing ships wouldn't spill their doom in a serious storm or other such emergency. Joffrey had teared his gaze from the absurdly simple yet somehow mind-boggling knots and was looking at Baleo curiously. "What, then? We have more sail than a mere trading cog, and less cargo space to boot" Joffrey said. He was rather proud he had spotted those inconsistencies.__"As I said Joff, no mere trading cog. This slick beauty is a fast runner, made for the sole purpose of carrying small but high value cargo from place to place, as fast as we can." Baleo said as he chopped a bit of ruined wood from the rigging with his axe. Joffrey thought for a moment before asking again. "There's a business for that sort of thing?" he asked as he tried to disentangle another impossible knot, only making it worse. "No, no" said Baleo suddenly as he took the piece of rope from Joffrey's hands and re arranged the knot. "You put this one over, then you tie the loop." He said while demonstrating. Joffrey nodded absentmindedly, his hands trying to replicate it with the next piece of tangled rigging.__"To answer your question, there is. Either from contracts or freelancing, there's always someone that just needs a select Tyroshi pear brandy that's 50 years old or a costume made Myrish carpet, or any thousands of other goods, and wants them now. Or at least sooner than your average trading cog can get it to you." he said. "Of course, when there are no contracts the Captain favors long voyages. After all, the more separated the ports, the more exotic will be the wares." He said, amused as Joffrey had trouble with another piece of tangled, shredded rigging.__"I… see…" muttered Joffrey as he tried to figure out the knot. He messed with it for another 5 minutes before he handed it to the amused Baleo in defeat.__"Don't worry Joffrey, it will get past your thick head eventually" Said Baleo as he showed him yet again, his deft fingers untangling the rigging and knotting it again.__-.PD.-__As more months passed by and the ship made its rounds across the Narrow Sea, Joffrey slowly integrated himself to the Ship's daily life.__The Eastern Winds crew was a mixed lot, and the resulting ship life was, consequently, a mixed lot too. The sailors frequently engaged in varied games of fortune were Joffrey promptly lost all of his pay, and got ribbed mercilessly for it. Other times, the two Qohorik seamen engaged in duels of accuracy and speed with their fine throwing blades, and would challenge anyone to try their luck at the contest. Joffrey's short lived carrier as a knife thrower lasted 3 seconds as the first knife he tossed not only didn't even reach its target on the bulkhead, but skewered a slice of bread one of the other sailors was eating… more than 10 meters away from the target… in the other direction. Tregarro, one of the qohorik knife throwers, had nearly died of laughter while Joffrey escaped from the enraged sailor, a mountain of a man named Voqo.__The sailors were a harsh crew, but a fair one at that, and they took care of their own.__One night the crew had been out and about in Pentos, showering their money away at prostitutes and taverns (not that Joffrey blamed them, anyone needed a good pint of brandy after surviving that storm), Joffrey had taken a few drinks too many and had been stumbling about in the street when two shadows accosted him. "Your purse or your life" they said, or something akin to that. Launguage was pretty universal for those situations. Joffrey wasn't exactly fluent in bastard valyran, but the crash course these past few months had taught him some things.__"*hic*… Fuck my … *hic*…not mother!" he said, butchering the insult in his inebriated state, waving his dagger about. Not that it mattered, that was pretty universal too. The shadows growled, and made to strike him down when someone spoke from behind. "No one messes with the crew of the Eastern Winds you dogs." Said the voice of Baleo. The men turned around to find themselves staring at Baleo, standing aside the biggest man they had probably ever seen. Baleo nodded at his companion, "Voqo" he said simply.__Voqo nodded.__The robbers stared at them in panic, daggers at the ready.__…__…__…__Baleo waited too, periodically looking at Voqo until he sighted, exasperated. "Voqo, kill them" he said.__"Oh, right" said Voqo, somewhat abashed as he suddenly moved. A man so big shouldn't have been capable of moving so fast, but in two seconds he had both robbers on the ground, their necks bent at unnatural angles.__"Lets go Joff" Said Baleo as he grabbed him by the shoulder. Joffrey just hiccupped while he looked at Voqo. "You'd make a fine *hic* Kingsguard Voqo… not that it'd *hic* be hard…" he said, stumbling as Baleo and Voqo looked at each other in confusion.__"Kids these days…" muttered Baleo.__Voqo nodded sagely.__-.PD.-__It was months after that encounter, on their way to Braavos, that they noticed the same ship had been behind them for the past 6 hours… and it was getting closer.__"Joff, the far-eye please" Said Nakaro, frowning at the chasing ship while his gloved hands grasped the Eastern Winds stern rail. Joffrey turned to a chest by the side, got the Myrish far eye, stretched it open and promptly giving it to Nakaro. "Captain" he said.__Joffrey had been for little more than a year on this ship as a crewmember, but changes were apparent still. His hands were worn and callused, and his skin had a healthy tan that did a lot to fix his previously deathly pale complexion. He scratched behind his ear where a bit of salt had made its home. "They shouldn't be pirates, Captain" said Joffrey, puzzled.__"Hmm. Its true that our small size makes most pirates chase other, more apparently lucrative prey… but not all pirates are mindless sellsails…" he lowered the far eye and then turned to look at the various fly wheels and other vaguely toy like instruments on the ship's mast. "They'll try to catch us before the storm… and pirates who are well informed are usually well armed…" he said before nodding decisively, "Baleo, break open the arms chest and arm the crew… and deploy the ballistas… Guess we will see exactly how good you are, Joff." He said.__Joffrey tightened his hand around the bastard sword he had acquired in Pentos, and nodded "We will be ready, Captain" he said. This past year had been incredible, docking at each Free city, seeing things he had never even imagined… and being part of a crew that was starting to feel like family.__He was not going to let them take it.__-.PD.-__As the afternoon carried on, the sky had gradually acquired an ominous dark-grey tone, and the waves were wilder. The ship kept getting close, and worst, it had deployed rowers on its sides, further increasing its speed.__"The men are ready, Captain" Said Baleo, throttling a boarding axe. Nakaro nodded and walked to the edge of the foredeck. "Men! Those bastards over there think they can steal our hard earned silver… problem is, I'm not feeling particularly generous today." He said loudly for all to follow. The men, some of whom had been looking quite nervous, suddenly found themselves laughing.__"Let's show them just how greedy the crew of the Eastern Winds can be!!!" bellowed Nakaro, raising his rapier. The men roared their defiance, Joffrey as loud as any of them.__"Ballistas! Make ready!" shouted Nakaro. The men manning the light ballista's that had been carried and bolted to the deck finished cocking the springs, each of them voicing their assent.__Nakaro seemed to wait for a minute, eyeing the chasing ship, and the winds. The sea had turned even more turbulent in the meantime, and the Eastern Winds rocked about, slapped by the high seas from every direction.__"Joreqor, hard starboard!" he commanded. "Aye Captain!" The sailor at the tiller said as he shoved his full weight to the left, carrying the tiller with him. The Eastern Winds responded immediately, turning to the right and cutting the chasing ship's T at an oblique angle, and Joffrey could see figures on the pirate ship gesticulating wildly.__"Archers, loose!" shouted Nakaro. On the deck the sailors armed with a myriad of ranged weapons, including Joffrey and the ballistas, opened up, showering the chasing ship with arrows. Joffrey could hear their screams from here as the parabolic trajectory of the projectiles brought them down directly on their deck.__Suddenly a hail of arrows departed from the enemy ship-__"Take cover!" shouted Joffrey as he ducked against the heavy wooden railing, struggling to reload a crossbow. Most sailors did as told, but a few were on the deck, screaming as multiple arrows peppered them. Not all of the projectiles had been arrows, some of them were heavy grappling hooks.__"Cut them!" shouted Tregarro, getting a hand axe and trying to snap the reinforced rope that connected them to the other ship. Joffrey joined in the effort, but with the hail of arrows going both directions it was difficult to cut the damned things without ending up as a pin cushion.__Soon it was too late, and as both ships crashed side by side, Joffrey could hear a battle cry in bastard valyrian. Something about skewering the bastards.__And they were upon them. The pirates had little or no armor that Joffrey could see, likely preferring agility and the prospect of survival should they fall to the seas. Joffrey and the crew met them with contained fury, and soon the Eastern Winds found itself host to a whirling skirmish.__Joffrey found himself facing a thin man with two long daggers that kept swishing in an interlocking pattern. They were evenly matched, though the constant tumbling in the deck due to the stormy seas gave the advantage to the pirate, who seemed to flow with the tumbling as if he'd been doing it since childhood. He'd probably had too.__The man wheeled about fluidly, swishing his daggers about and never staying too long on one place. His combat style was strange and unexpected, something that took its toll on Joffrey as a sudden change in direction by the sailor ended up with him being licked by the long daggers. With mounting horror, he realized his left arm had been disabled. It was hanging almost uselessly by the side, bleeding freely. The Hound's trademark grapples would not work for now.__The pirate, likely seeing the blood, redoubled his attack, and Joffrey was quickly on the defensive, parrying and trying to dodge the damned daggers. He was sure he'd seen this type of fighting before in King's Landing, but for the life of him he couldn't remember from who or what it was. He tried to copy it, trying to dodge about with the feel of the waves as the man was doing, but it was futile. The joined ships thundered precariously over the swells, and a sudden wave shoved Joffrey to the side, making him tumble and roll through the deck before his head stopped him, thunking against one of the masts.__He wiped the salt water out of his eyes, and was confronted with the sight of the pirate above him, daggers ready to gut him.__Not like this. Not now.__He had found peace with the crew, of a sort. Not in the physical sense, this life had been rowdier than most… but in his mind, and now, as the daggers descended, Joffrey realized with a start that the simple life of a sailor had brought him more happiness than all his princely pasts. He had found a family with the Eastern Wind's crew, but, as Joffrey had found out before, good things didn't last on this planet.__Everything quickly turned dark.__-.PD.-__He awoke with an indescribable sadness weighing him down. Another start, alone again.__Still, he decided to take a big breath before anything. Then he would think about… everything else…__He couldn't fill his lungs before a sharp pain kicked in at his side.__That's new.__He could feel himself gently sway about, following about the rhythm of the waves. He was likely on his hummock on—__Wait.__He opened his eyes and saw not the stilted ugliness of the red keep, but the blessed view of his crewmates sleeping, playing dice and even Voqo and Maerrys wrestling about, cheered on by some spectators (and impromptu gamblers), all of them on the big compartment that served as the crew's quarters aboard the Eastern Winds.__"Hey!" someone said. "Joff's awake!"__With that shout, everyone stopped what they were doing and swarmed over Joffrey, all speaking at the same time, excitedly gesticulating with their hands.__"I never thought I'd have the horror of watching someone sleep longer than Voqo, but gods did you shatter that assumption Joff!" said someone –Tregarro, Qohorik, shamlesss pranker and party maker--__"That was the shitiest Water Dancing I've ever seen!" said one of them – Draqyllo, Braavosi, dour pessimist, likes to read.—__"Damn you Joff! Now I owe Maerrys 5 silver pieces!" said another one-- Aeolo, Lyseni, widely mocked "dancer"—__"Don't do that again you idiot, you were killing me! Who's going to keep me company scrubbing the floor for eternity if you croak?!" said the jovial but slightly worried voice of –Baleo, Braavosi, Friend.-__Joffrey found his eyes watering lightly, and he cared not that they saw him cry.__They all stopped speaking above each other as Joffrey let his tears run down his cheeks.__All except one.__"I think he's got something on his eye" said Voqo.__The face palms and exasperated eye rolls only made him cry harder.__-.PD.-__The Eastern Winds passed below the Titan of Braavos in triumph, towing her prize behind her. The crew was in an incredibly jubilant mood, cheering for all their worth as they made it back to their home port. Joffrey cheered as loud as any of them (actually a bit quieter, his belly was still sore as hells). The city had a standing bounty for any slaves liberated by its ships, and the pirate's galley had been full of them, mostly rowers although a few pleasure slaves had been there too. Some of the former slaves were amongst the crew too, whooping and cheering. It felt good to be responsible in some small way for so much positive emotion. One of the former slave girls was crying in joy, gazing at the titan of Braavos. Now there was no chance she'd be taken again. Joff was about to tell Baleo about it but he found his friend being passionately kissed (eaten should be a better word) by one of the former pleasure slaves, her eyes watering in joy too but manifesting her happiness in an entirely different way.__And giving Baleo an early start in the celebrations, thought Joff, somewhat jealous.__Joff… The rest of the crew already thought that was his name, but after the awakening back on his hummock he had found himself thinking of his own person not as Joffrey, bastard born out of incest and fugitive 'prince'… but as Joff, petty sailor of the Fast Runner Eastern Winds.__I rather like that, though Joff as he gazed at the most powerful of the Free Cities.__He had never before seen Braavos, and it was clear it was a different kettle of fish from King's Landing. The city stretched across a hundred islands, with stone bridges and small gondolas connecting them together. The huge statue of the Titan served as a symbol of the cities prestige and also as the fortress that protected the harbor entrance. It stood proudly, as if defying the old Valyrian dragonriders to take them back into captivity again. The heavy mist that seemed to permeate Braavos gave the city an alluring, exotic tone to its grey architecture. Truly, the city had a flavor all of its own.__As Joffrey's wondering gaze scanned the Free City, he felt a presence on his side. Turning, he saw Nakaro holding his trademark smirk. "Beautiful, no? Could do away with the smell though" he said, and Joffrey snorted. It was true, the water did smell just a bit fowl. It seemed even the best of the Free Cities had its downsides, and though beautiful, the canals did smell.__As the ship slowly made its way to the docks, Nakaro spoke again. "Before you go with the rest of the crew to toss your hard earned coin to the trash, I wanted to talk about your training schedule."__Joff was nonplussed. "Training schedule?" he asked.__Nakaro nodded as if speaking to a child. "Yes. Training schedule. Your proto-water dancing was atrocious. Next time we fight in the middle of a storm some pirate bastard will finish what the other started and gut you for good… unless you learn how to fight properly." He said.__"B-but I already know how to fight!" said Joffrey automatically as his mind wheeled. The Captain teaching him how to fight? He had seen glimpses of him on the wild melee aboard the Eastern Sails. He had been like a flash of lighting, flowing smoothly between combatants and sinking his pin point rapier into terrified eye sockets and armpits by the dozens.__Nakaro actually laughed. "Aye, if you call that Westerosi stomping 'fighting'!" he shook his head. "Out in the sea there is no heavy armor to bash through, and consequently there's no heavy armor to protect you. The footwork is a death sentence in any kind of mildly bad weather, and in the changing environment of a ship melee there are no soldiers you can count on watching your sides and back" he shook his head again. "No 'Joff', you have a lot to learn." He said, watching as the men tied the ship to the docks. They didn't need any orders, they'd done this a hundred times before.__Joff watched the wandering gondolas for a few seconds before gazing back at Nakaro.__No one's taking them from me.__"When do we start?" he asked his Captain._


	11. CHAPTER 10

Chapter 10: To Know Thyself.

Joff's rapier ended in the floor again, clattering loudly as the young man himself rubbed his knuckles and bit off an exasperated retort. The Captain just looked at him patiently, sporting his damnable knowing smirk, and Joff once again took up the sword.

"… I'm not plodding!" Joff said, seemingly trying to convince himself more than Nakaro. Nakaro himself just shook his head with a couple of quiet "tsk". "You still move like a knight, you must be like the waves instead, in and out before they can react, crashing with irresistible force on the place of your choosing." He said, suddenly lunging at Joff with unexpected strength in spite of his small size, and thus the lesson continued. The last part was not so common in regular waterdancing, but Nakaro was teaching the more difficult form of it, he called it the "Rising Tide" technique. It was geared to be used against armored opponents as well as light combatants. It centered itself on precise blows that put the whole force of the body behind it, retracting before the enemy could react. Nakaro had helpfully demonstrated with a strung up armor full of Lyseni melons. Armor could not provide protection in areas they didn't cover anyway, and light opponents would die just as well... his display had had been terrifying, Joffrey could well imagine blood instead of melon juice splashed all over the armor, the floor and the sword.

Problem is, it was freaking impossible to learn.

Do not plod, move like the waves. Joff thought to himself as he suddenly whirled with his wooden rapier towards Nakaro. Now with a bit of martial acumen under his belt, Joffrey could understand why so many Westerosi Knights thought water dancing was rubbish. The rapier was a terrible weapon in conventional fighting, and to get really lethal with it against armored opponents one needed a lot of training, which made it impractical. Besides, whirling about in typical braavosi style was a little tiring if you used full plate at the same time…

Anyway…

He had a lot time.

Nakaro moved to the side, minutely. Joff's rapier passes within a hair's breadth of Nakaro's ribs before his own rapier thunked him below the armpit. Nakaro didn't really waste a single bit of sweat. All his movements were economical and did just what was needed for the job. For the amateur it just looked reckless, now, having been in several fights since his first life, Joff supposed it gave him a huge advantage in longer battles. Stamina was king in those encounters… at least that's what the hound had told him a few lives back. That economy of movement was something that interested Joff beyond the specific water dancing style, it was something he felt would improve his overall martial prowess… and help a lot if he got into a scrub relatively soon after starting another life… his physical reserves were horrible for the first couple of months after Awakening.

"Getting distracted again, Joff?" said Nakaro teasingly as he picked up Joff's wooden sword from the ground. Joff snapped out of it and moved to take it back for another bout, but Nakaro shook his head. "We've made good progress for today… besides, you're getting into your thoughtful mood again" he said.

Joff nodded as Nakaro gathered the swords and walked out of the secluded garden they had been practicing on. He shook his head as he walked out too, thinking. The captain really had a way of knowing what was going through his mind, it was a little unnerving. Thankfully, the warm Braavosi public baths soon soothed his muscles and his mind, and after a while Joff found himself back in the Wandering Seahorse, the tavern that had become the de facto meeting place of the sailors of the Eastern Winds.

Baleo, Voqo, Tregarro and many other greeted him, it seemed they had gotten into an early start.

"Joff! We thought the cap'n finally decided to save himself some trouble and threw you into the channel!" said Maerrys as he got an empty cup and served him a brown liquid of dubious origin. "Nah, he knows I'm too stubborn for that, my big head would float up to the docks and the Arsenal's stewards would give him a fine!" Said Joff. They all laughed at that as Joff came to their big table, and everyone moved a bit to make space for him. Joff basked in the warm camaraderie as he sat and took a swill of the brown ale and let out a content sight.

"Gods, I needed that" he said. It sometimes surprised him how basic his leisurely needs had become. These days a couple of ales and an evening relaxing and listening to outrageous stories was more satisfying than a thousand feasts in the Red Keep.

"Say, Joff. The Captain's also been showing you the nautical charts, no?" Said the silver haired Aeolo, peering at Joff. "Yeah, he must have gotten tired of writing all the course corrections down himself, as if I hadn't enough with the water dancing and that damned sextant" Joff grouched good naturally. The Captain had been unloading a bunch of duties to him, the lazy bastard. He couldn't blame him though. As King, Joff had followed the fine tradition of his supposed father to the letter. Hand the work to those below you on the food chain!

Aeolo and Baleo shared a knowing look after Joff's complaint. Joff was going to ask what they were plotting but a meaty hand slammed into his shoulder and another one pressed a full tankard in front of him before he could ask.

"Drink" Said Voqo, grinning.

"Yeah!" Said Maerrys, his smile showing a multitude of golden teeth. "Its time for your Ale dancing lesson now!"

"Gods, that is the lamest joke I've ever--" Joff was interrupted as Vogo's giagiantic hand slammed the cup into his mouth. Things quickly degenerated after that…

-.PD.-

There was one detail about that night that stuck Joffrey's mind however.

They had been making their way out of the tavern, the serving wench glaring amusedly behind them as they stumbled and struggled to hold each other up, when Joff heard someone bragging in the common tongue.

"Its true! My friend from the Drift's Pride heard it straight from one of the soldiers! Lord Stannis turned himself into a black ghost and pierced the old lion's heart like a spear through an orange!"

Joff stopped, his heart hammering right out of his chest. What was the chance of such a detailed rumor repeating itself?!

Sure, he had said "black ghost" instead of "shadow demon", but…

The sailor cursed as his tankard crashed against another table when he reached to grab it. The other table's regulars all got up shouting and soon a brawl was in place. "We should go Joff!" said Baleo urgently as the tavern owner got a huge club from under the bar.

Joff nodded dumbly as they exited. Stupid sailors and their inane rumors… he shook his groggy and tipsy head, suddenly realizing he had insulted himself. Stupid sailors… indeed! He started laughing out loud, and everyone else was so drunk they started laughing too.

Soon he banished the shadowy images from his mind.

-.PD.-

The next couple of months passed in a flash for Joff. But the frequent water dancing training was not the only thing he did in that time. The Captain had ordered him to apprentice with each of the different crewmembers to learn their skills in case he needed to take their posts in case of an emergency. When Joff explained the Captain's reasoning to the men they just shook their heads with knowing smirks, but refused to elaborate on what the joke was.

They didn't care really. Despite the frequent partying and lounging they were getting a bit anxious, yearning a return to the sea. That was why when the Captain said The Eastern Winds had finally completed her delayed maintenance in the Braavosi docks everyone had cheered with joy. Joff was glad too… their ship was back in service again.

He had started to develop a legitimate curiosity about the world that surrounded him. At first he had escaped from King's Landing to the first place that he had associated with "having a good time". Recalling F-.Robert's frequent rants about "grabbing his warhammer and fucking off to Lys", the choice had been immediate.

Now though… He found the call of the sea strangely alluring. What had started as mere wonder back in Lys had had its appetite wetted in the Narrow Sea as the Eastern Winds made its runs through cities such as Pentos, Myr and Tyrosh. If cities that were relatively close to Westeros could be so different and exotic…

What awaited further east?

He guessed Eddard had never expected him to take his advice so literally, but just how much was there to experience further east?

As the Eastern Winds crashed against the waves and Joff distractedly removed salt from his face, Nakaro barked a quick command.

"Joff, take the tiller" he said as he made his way down, to his cabin probably. "Aye Captain" said Joff absentmindedly, taking the tiller as he kept staring at the horizon.

-.PD.-

The months kept stretching as Joff kept learning new things about sailing and the seas in general. Joff surprised himself discovering things about himself that he would have never even guessed about on his first life. He had discovered a newfound thirst for knowledge that eerily reminded him of uncle Tyrion… Only it was not about things learnt in books. No, books had always been a dry slog for him.

But learning things… experiencing them directly, was eliciting a sense of well being he was becoming addicted to. He found himself listening attentively and watching as the sailors kept teaching him the necessary skills to survive on a ship. How to survive and detect the coming of storms. How to guide a ship when there was no sight of land and only the stars high above Planetos guided the way.

Joff guessed this came in part because he was finally out into the world by himself, learning things not by force but by choice. There was no more obnoxious Grand Maester needling him incessantly about his letters or about House lore, it was just him, his sword, the crew and the ship, and his time was his to do as he pleased. That alone seemed to boost his learning skills a lot.

He could get used to that.

-.PD.-

They had been below decks and playing dice when he had finally managed to extract the inside joke the crew had been on apparently since Braavos.

"Hah! Double sixes! Pay up you wretches!" gloated Joffrey as Baleo, Tregarro and Maelys all grouched as they tossed him an eclectic mix of copper stars and Iron quarter-marks. "Did the Captain teach you how to spoil the dice too Joff?" asked Maelys as peered intently at the dice. "It wouldn't surprise me honestly, with all the stuff he's been cramming into my brain non stop" said Joffrey.

The three of them shared a knowing look as Joffrey huffed.

"Alright, that's it, you are going to spill the beans right now damnit. The joke must be incredibly good if it's lasted all this way since Braavos" said Joffrey, his tone brooking no nonsense.

All three sailors looked like surprised rabbits, and a flurry of knowing looks and exasperated sights followed quickly between them until both Tregarro and Maelys stared intently at Baleo, which only huffed.

"Fine!" he said, repressing a smile. "Well Joff, the thing is, the Captain is training you to take his place eventually" he finally spilled.

Joffrey's mouth was agape as Maerys triumphantly stole the dice from his hands. "My turn" he said as he shook them.

Joffrey finally reacted when he bellowed out a gaffaw, followed by a quick laugh. "Yeah right, good one!" he said shaking his head. Baleo however was quite serious and didn't even flicker his sight back to the dice when Maerys threw them. "Joff, its really kind of obvious. He's not only teaching you things every sailor should know in an emergency" he said the last part in an obvious ironical tone. "He's teaching you how to navigate and use charts, how to command a crew and even his own style of fighting."

Joffrey shook his head slowly "But… me?! I can think of at least 2 dozen people more capable of commanding this ship other than me! Even Voqo would do it better that I could ever dream of it!" he paused suddenly. "No offense Voqo" he added to the sleeping giant swinging on his equally big hammock a few meters back. A content grunt came from his direction as he resettled and kept on sleeping.

"You don't have the skills yet, that's true. Still, you have good judgment and a capacity to hear others and actually learn. That's really not a common talent, but that's just what I see. I've been sailing with the Captain for years and I know for a fact he's a good judge of character. He picked me after all" he said, amused. "If he thinks you'll make a fine captain, I'll believe him".

"That's true, all the other "cabin boys" never lasted more than a week" Said Maerys as he covertly stretched his hands and covered the dice he had just thrown. Tregarro nodded as he slapped Maerys hands, eying the 4 and the 2. "Pay up Maerys!" He said as he looked back at Joffrey. "Its common knowledge he's been searching for someone trustworthy so he can pass on the reigns for a while now. Someone who's actually had an education beyond dice cheating" he said, directing the last part at Maerys, who had the decency to look away as he scratched his neck.

Joffrey couldn't believe what he was hearing. "This is absurd! Me?! Judgement?! I wouldn't trust myself to run a rowboat, much less a Fast Runner! " he said disbelievingly.

Baleo just shrugged as Maerys took the dice again. "You should speak to him about it tomorrow. He'll tell you his reasoning I'm sure" he said tossing the dice again. "I don't understand why you're so freaked out by the whole thing" he said.

"You bet I will" said Joffrey, still in disbelieve. "YES!" shouted Maerys as the dice landed on the table, a one.

Joffrey just shook his head.

"Where did the other one go?" asked Maerys, searching below the table.

-.PD.-

Joffrey tossed and turned in his sleep, only succeeding in tying himself up in knots within his hammock. He had run away from responsibility, only to crash head first into it. He struggled to disentangle himself from the hammock with little success as he kept thinking. Still, a ship was quite an order of magnitude below a Kingdom.

Surely he wasn't that inept?

The thought bounced for a while on his head before…

Yes, yes he was.

To have people depend on him for their lives again…

Nope.

With a small shriek of rage he finally disentangled himself only to land on the hard wood below. He yelped and cursed as he massaged the small bump that was slowly forming on his head.

That's it. I'm talking to Nakarro now and I don't care if he's asleep or not.

He promptly strode out the room, dodging the swaying, sleeping forms of his fellow seamen. Once in the small hallway he made his way up to the Captain's room. Only it was already open.

That's strange. Joffrey thought in his sleep addled state. He entered the room, and promptly stopped cold. Inside was the Captain alright, he was still on his hummock, unmoving as the blood seeped out of him from his throat. Standing beside him was a back cloaked shape, his hand clutching a bloody axe.

Joff stood there, frozen as the figure turned around and titled its head in genuine surprise. "My my, look what we have here… my red pets will love to get a handle on you boy." Said the figure, dripping with contempt.

Joffrey snapped out of his trance, grabbed Nakaro's rapier on the nearby table and launched himself at the hooded assassin with a scream. He's axe moved unnaturally fast as he parried all of Joffrey's attacks with ease and countered with a painful hack at his arm that made him drop his sword. "Pathetic… To think your Father slayed the best seamen in history as if they were nothing…" he shook his head. "Come, you'll make a fine addition to my collection." He said as he advanced on him. Joffrey leapt back, clutching his bleeding arm as he run out of the cabin, shouting.

"WE ARE UNDER ATTACK! TO ARMS!! TO ARMS!!!" he bellowed with all his being as he raced out into the deck. Outside lay the bodies of the night watchmen, and countless black forms scuttling about, searching and looting. He could hear fighting below the decks…

He felt a thundering pain on his back as he stumbled forward, feeling the flowing blood coursing down his backside. Behind him stood Nakaro's killer, illuminated by the pale moonlight. The strange smog that clouded everywhere seemed to clear for a few seconds, and Joffrey saw beside him a big longship, sporting one big black sail adorned with a red eye in its middle. "I love it when they run, but its time to meet the rest of your future crew, little prince." He said as he sheathed his axe and advanced on him, arms intent on grabbing him. Below, the fighting had obviously stopped, as the only sound he heard now was the eerie silent shuffling of the men under the assassin's command.

Joffrey stumbled back, thoughts racing at the speed of light. Who was this… man?! Where was the rest of the crew? How had they boarded without so much as a sound?!

Finally his back hit the railing, and Joffrey muffled a grunt of pain as his back flared. "They're all dead… Nowhere left to run little prince. It's me or the Drowned God now." He said as he flashed a cruel, anticipating smile. It was the only part visible between the darkness and the cowl.

Joffrey looked back to the strangely still water, then back at the man that had so effortlessly disarmed him. "I don't know who the hells you are or what you want to do to me, but I'll take my chances with the Drowned God!" He said as he scaled the railing. The cruel smile turned into a brief "O" of surprise before snarling in anger as he tried to grab him.

Too late, thought Joffrey as he splashed into the ocean, sinking deeper and deeper.

It's been a while he thought as his lungs burned from the lack of air and the pain only deepened when the purple started to encroach again.

-.PD.-

He startled awake as his stomach heaved.

He took a few deep breaths, savoring the air like it was the sweetest nectar he had ever tasted. Funny how the simplest of things can be such a precious luxury, he thought, somewhat dazed.

Slowly, the events of the last few minutes seemed to catch up with him. "Oh gods…" he muttered as he rested his forehead on his palms. I guess I know now why it's so profitable to trade in the narrow sea… fucking pirates and madmen…

He stood up and took a cup of water some servant had left for him… last night probably, a dozen lifetimes away. He thought of Baleo and Voqo, of Nakaro and Merys, of all the colorful personalities that he had met in that life, spoken to them just a few hours ago from his perspective… and were now dead.

He threw the cup away in anger. What's the point in getting to know people if they always end up dead around me… His throat clenched when he thought about them, killed by fucking pirates.

He spent the next half hour between brooding and smiling, remembering their antics.

Except… they weren't dead, not really. They were alive again, with no memory of him, a stranger. And given the wandering patterns of fate and the weather, it was unlikely they would meet that mad man again… at least not if he didn't show up in Lys again and accelerated their departure like last time.

He gazed at the city from his window, the city that had come to symbolize the futility of his life. He still didn't want to touch the iron lump of misery and pain, in fact he still didn't want to be here in this city of plots and decadence.

Joffrey sat back on the nearby chair, for once not minding the stench of King's landing, so good it was to have air on his lungs again. Besides, after living for months on Braavos in the stench of the still canals this didn't really faze him.

What now?

For a moment he thought about going to Lys again and meeting up with the crew, but decided against it. It would be too painful for him to see them and not recognize him…

The veil of apathy and depression slowly left him as Joffrey pondered his options.

I don't have to stay here if I don't want to. Nakaro (he winced when he remembered his dead body) Gods, he's alive now, calm down. He centered himself again and kept thinking. He taught me the basics of sailing, I'm reasonably sure I can get employed on any ship here on King's Landing without relying on dumb luck like on Lys… and from there I can go anywhere. North, South, East, West… or all of them.

He slumped back on the chair of the small balcony, for once really thinking about his… curse? He didn't know what to call it. He had unlimited time to explore the whole world around him… and no matter what, he could always wake back up here, and keep going.

Slowly, a smile crept into Joffrey. So much to do, so many places to go… but there's no rush, I have all the time in the world. He thought as he closed his eyes and lounged on the morning sunlight.


	12. CHAPTER 11

Chapter 11: Of Ale and Mountains.

After spending months freewheeling between free city taverns with the crew of the Swift Winds, court life seemed so… boring and lifeless. Those were the words. Everything anyone with power did was worry, scheme and trade polite barbs in the never ending fucking game of thrones. They probably didn't spend all their time doing that, Joffrey was sure, but it sure as hells seemed as if that was what they did all day.

The highlight of the first day of this life was when he actually won a bout against the hound, fair and square. He had spurned the heavy padded clothing and opted for light armor, and he had used his reflexes and moves learned under Nakaro to land a storm of blows against a thoroughly surprised Clegane, winning the bout. After that the cat was out of the bag though, and Clegane made sure to be ready to his hybrid style, handily winning all the next bouts.

"Where the hells did you learn that?" asked the hound, slightly winded. He made a stark contrast next to Joffrey, who was groaning in the ground, breathing every last puff of air he could before exhaling and doing it again. "Here… and… there…" answered Joffrey, between breaths. "Gods… I didn't remember being… so unfit for this" he said before halfheartedly examining his hands. "They're so… smooth and white and weak." He said despairingly.

"Huh?" grunted the Hound.

"Never mind Hound."

The Hound raised one if his burnt eyebrows stoically. "If you keep practicing it should get easier with time." He said, privately wondering what had happened to the little shit last night that he seemed like another person.

"Yeah, until the bloody next time" he muttered before flopping his head back down into the mud and just staying there in front of the whole courtyard.

-.PD.-

The caravan started North again, and Joffrey didn't feel any need to escape just yet. He was still pondering on what to do when sudden inspiration struck him. Predictably, the imp had been the catalyst.

Tyrion had defrosted enough with his friendly demeanor that they had taken to riding out ahead of the main group, sometimes even taking detours and spending the night in sleepy hamlets or other, more interesting places. Joffrey thought that a big part of making him at ease so quickly could have been his frequent meditations. He had never quite left that habit from that fateful life with Ned, and it almost never failed to center him and sooth his sanity. The imp had been waiting for the other shoe to drop for a week, but he had eventually given up and had even joined one or two times to find out what the deal was.

He had concluded he preferred whores.

"My reading is still shit, uncle. I really need some way to get it to improve beyond just sitting through Pycell's lessons. I think I came out of his study actually reading slower than I did before." Said Joffrey, shaking his head.

The imp hummed as they walked through the heavy forest, the slope had been getting steadily steeper as they kept walking, and the sun was already right above them. "What you need, Nephew, is a project" he said matter of factly as he grabbed his wineskin and tried to take a sip, only to find it empty. "Shit. This little trek took longer than I thought." He said. Joffrey snorted as he tossed him a second wineskin he had been carrying on his totally unprincely backpack. "I applaud your forethought Nephew!" Said Tyrion as he merrily took the clasp out and took a drink, only for his eyes to widen. "Arbor Gold? How did you-"

"You are a creature of habit, uncle." Said Joffrey, rolling his eyes. Tyrion gave him the stink eye for a few seconds. "What happened to my Nephew?" he asked, apparently serious.

"Bumped his head on the wheelhouse" replied Joffrey, not missing a beat.

"Not a problem for me, the ceiling can't get me" said Tyrion, glibly.

"No, the stairs are your enemy, that and his Bannerman, Dornish Red" said Joffrey, totally straight as they kept walking.

He looked back and saw the imp struggle for a few moments before a wheezing snort came out of his mouth and finally both of them shared a good chuckle.

"You win this time, Nephew" Said Tyrion, a hint of pride on his voice. "They grow so fast" he said supposedly for himself. "Faster than you!" said Joffrey, entering the game of wits again.

"Winning" his first verbal sparring against the imp had given him more satisfaction than all his years as King combined, though he sadly suspected the imp was going soft on him.

"Growing, as all things in life, must be taken slowly, to fully appreciate them" said Tyrion airily as he scaled a boulder that was in the middle of their path.

"Yes, your trip down the stairs was slow, now that I think about it" said Joffrey as if trying to remember a difficult math problem.

"Slower than the Dornish Red coming out of your throat, that's for sure!" Said the imp triumphantly as he looked at him and wiggled his eyebrows.

"GAAAHH" Joffrey guffawed as he shook his head. "Point, uncle. And remind me never to drink Dornish Red again."

"Believe me I will, those were my finest robes!" Tyrion exclaimed in mock anger.

"I only had 3 cups!" said Joffrey.

"Yes, that was the problem" said Tyrion instantly. Ouch, triple hit. Yep, he had been going soft on him.

They kept walking-kind-of-slogging through the thick sapplings and branches for a while until Joffrey asked again. "A project, uncle?"

"Aye, you told me you found reading for the sake of it interesting but incapable of holding your attention? But if it was something practical you'd learned it in no time?" Asked the Imp.

"Yeeeeeesss… kind of" said Joffrey, slowly.

"So, you make it practical. Set yourself a goal and convince yourself everything you study that's even remotely tied with it will help you reach it" Said Tyrion as if were the most obvious thing in the world.

"hmmm… Sometimes your intellect terrifies me" Said Joffrey as he dodged a particularly spiky branch.

"The whores never say that" said Tyrion.

"Ahh not again!" Said Joffrey, exasperated.

"They most definitively never say that!" said the damnable imp, not missing a beat.

Joffrey resolved to keep quiet for now lest he give his uncle more fuel, trawling his mind for possible "projects".

-.PD.-

"Making your own carriage?" tossed the Imp.

"No" said Joffrey.

"Visiting every whorehouse in the Riverlands?" asked the Imp.

"What? No" said Joffrey. The slope was now almost nonexistent, they were finally approaching the top of this hill.

"Look, I was thinking about something more… ambitious." Said Joffrey, carefully.

"hmmm… Make your Mother like me?" he asked tentatively.

"Not that ambitious" Said Joffrey trying to stop a totally unprincly snort.

They bulled through one last shrub and finally the thick forest was behind them.

"What a view…" said the imp with a light smile on his face.

From atop the hill they could see the winding rivers of the Riverlands, its fields and some of the small hamlets. To the other side was the Vale, with its mighty mountains of the moon in all their grey and green splendor, topped by manes of lustrous white.

Joffrey and Tyrion spent a while there basking in the early afternoon sun, eating the bread and ham they had brought with them and passing the wineskin between them.

"It's truly a magnificent view" said Joffrey, eying the titanic, steeply jagged mountains.

Tyrion took another gulp of Arbor Gold before tossing it to Joffrey "That it is, imagine how much more magnificent it must be from atop of it." He said with a dreamy smile.

Joffrey had been shaking the wineskin with his hand and noting with annoyance that the Imp had drained every last drop when he suddenly perked his head up.

"The top… Uncle you're a genius!" he said as he excitedly bounced back into his feet. "Gods, you could see the Vale, the Riverlands and the Crownlands all at the same time, maybe even the sea! The top of the world…" said Joffrey, his eyes in a haze.

Tyrion laughed out loud at that. "Aye, that'd be the view" he kept staring at the peak, then sneaked a glance back at Joffrey, who had stayed silent.

"… you're serious?"

Joffrey smiled. "I am" he said with quiet conviction.

-.PD.-

Joffrey stayed a grand total of 2 days at Winterfell, trying to avoid Lord Stark and the bittersweet memories he elicited. After paying the appropriate respects to the Starks, and feeling an immense sense of Déjà vu as he did, he finally rode out in the morning after one of the great feasts when everyone was asleep in a drunken stupor.

Cercei was throwing a fit of epic proportions, whirling about and shouting at Tyrion with her every breath. "I knew this would happen! I knew you would stray my son with your evil ideas and your wretched mind!"

Tyrion was seated on his chair calmly sipping his wine. "Please go on" he said amiably. Cercei's face turned even redder as she whirled on him again "And what in the seven hells is he hopping to find in Last Hearth?! A frozen tundra even worse than this one?!" she screamed.

Tyrion shrugged his shoulders innocently. "He said something about 'climbing gear'" he said glibly.

Cercei gave a wordless, muffled scream and stormed out of the room.

Tyrion smiled and gave a silent toast to rebel sons and amusing Nephews from all over the world.

-.PD.-

This was not how he envisioned his procurement expedition to Last Hearth.

"DRINK!" Bellowed the Smalljon as he slammed another mug into Joffrey's hand. It was bigger than his head.

The pale northern ale swirled inside the mug like a hypnotic miniature hurricane.

It was really mesmerizing.

Joffrey thought he was a bit drunk.

He frowned, pondering that thought for a while.

Was he?

Fuck it!

He downed the ale in one go and stood up, spluttering all over the Smalljon and his brothers who found the whole spectacle incredibly funny for some reason. Not that it stopped them from chugging down their own ales.

Joffrey shambled towards the Smalljon and grabbed him by the shoulders.

He had ridden here in an important mission, a project! He had to ask the Smalljon about their climbing tactics!

"Smalljon…. Mountains… their so beautiful!" he slurred.

He was rewarded with a titanic gaffaw and a blast of foul smell as the Smalljon seemed to open his big mouth and wheezed a rumbling chuckle that shook Joffrey's brain.

Suddenly the door creaked open, and everybody froze as a looming figure entered the room, walking sideways.

The silence was deafening as the Smalljon recognized his great uncle, Mors "Crowfood" Umber, his stoic figure walking unrelenting towards them.

Mors finally turned around to face them properly… that's when they noticed his beatific smile and the cask of ale under his enormous right arm.

The men of house Umber cheered so hard Joffrey thought his ear drums would rupture. He forgot what he had been thinking on at that very moment, but the ale barrel bigger than his torso that Mors deposited right in front of him seemed to hide the answers within itself.

"There's only one way to know" said Joffrey as the Smalljon and his brothers nodded solemnly, gripping their mugs like Knights before the charge.

-.PD.-

Pain….

UNBEARABLE PAIN.

Joffrey turned to the side and emptied the contents of his stomach.

That's funny… I don't remember dying…

That's when he noticed his vomit had landed right on a sleeping Osric, the Smalljon's "smaller" brother.

How did I get here again?

The migraine that assaulted him right then obliterated that thought, and Joffrey spent the next hour composting on the chair he had awoken upon as he tried to remember what happened yesterday.

He had arrived at Last Hearth because of the rumors about the tools they used for climbing some of the steeper cliffs of their lands, or for when they had to go and speak with the mountain clans in the middle of winter.

He had arrived at midday and had spent a while speaking with the small village's blacksmith, who seemed to know his stuff and dazzled Joffrey with different tools and metal gadgets he could only guess at their function.

That's when an enraged Smalljon had bursted into the smithy and demanded to know why a Prince was visiting his home without presenting himself first. Joffrey had spluttered a few apologies before the Smalljon demanded he present himself properly to mend the insult, practically manhandling him towards the Castle.

It was only when he noticed that the small room he was shoved into was not the main keep, and not until he saw the Smalljon's presumably smaller brothers entering through another door with barrelfulls of ale that Joffrey had realized the truth.

It's a trap.

Still, he stoically decided to brave the famous Umber gregariousness and use this opportunity to learn more about climbing.

His memory got a bit spotty after that.

His introspection was suddenly interrupted when Osric woke up suddenly and tried to get up, incidentally grabbing Joffrey's chair for support and shaking it a bit in lateral motion.

Oh boy.

Joffrey's face turned into an unhealthy shade of green and poor Osric didn't have the chance to grunt a confused "huh?" before another face full of vomit impacted him right in the nose.

-.PD.-

After cleaning themselves, the Umber boys were chastised by the Greatjon in the main keep, right in front of Joffrey, to both his and their eternal chagrin. The Greatjon had struggled to maintain a serious façade as he scolded his sons and welcomed Joffrey properly into his keep. Though even the Lord of Last Hearth laughed out loud with his sons when a suspiciously clean and composed Mors Umber, face totally straight and composed, speculated out loud that Joffrey was probably already under guest rights given the contents of his belly.

There would be a feast tonight, much to Joffrey's exasperation. He was sick of feats. Apparently a Crown Prince of the seven kingdoms had never in history visited Last Hearth, and that was a Big Deal, worthy enough for a great feast for the merriment of all.

Merriment that apparently started with a 'small' lunch right now, accompanied, of course, by a mug of ale bigger than his head.

Oh boy.

-.PD.-

Joffrey's carefully thought out timetable was blown to pieces when the Umbers managed, not entirely against his will, to make him stay there for a full week. Things only got worse when a one man rescue party (or half-man rescue party as he liked to call himself) arrived at Last Hearth to "make sure he was alright".

Things degenerated completely when Tyrion somehow managed to orchestrate a double team drinking competition between him and Joffrey against the Jon's.

It had been an epic encounter worthy of being written in by a Maester and stored in the Citadel for future generations to come. They must have been surrounded by the entire living population of Last Hearth as the main keep's table resounded with each empty ale mug crashing against it, Lannisters facing off against the Umbers. Joffrey had completely lost control of his motor skills but had still somehow managed to see the whole thing. He had been taken out early and Tyrion had withstood the Great and Small Jon's tag team for a straight hour before he drunk the Smalljon under the table and only the Lord of Last Hearth remained, eying the half man as one would survey an enemy commander.

The battlefield was a table filled with empty tankards and barrels, spilled beers, and the bodies of the fallen that had joined one side or the other.

"Uncle… don't!" had muttered Joffrey, pleading with his groggy eyes from his chair next to the Imp.

Tyrion had a small serene smile as he gripped his tankard, wobbling from side to side. "Lannister's never quit, Nephew" He said with a faraway look.

The Greatjon nodded with infinite respect as they both toasted their tankards, and downed them in one gulp.

Fifteen seconds passed as the two contestants watched each other, and the hall was silent as everybody looked on in expectation.

Suddenly, the Greatjon rolled his eyes and his head bumped against the table, fast asleep.

Tyrion, face absolutely serious, raised both his arms in silent victory, not having the strength to say anything.

The keep went absolutely fucking mad.


	13. A Note From The Non-Author

**A Note From The Non-Author**

Alright people, Afyansnwkhn here. I havent posted anymore chapters to this story since the day I put up the first couple chapters. I have noticed that some people want more, some people say I have plagerized, and some people have thanked me.

Firstly, I only planned on posting enough of the story to tease readers that were interested into seeking out the original work by Baurus. I don't plan on continuing to cross post the story, so go find Baurus.

Secondly, I have stated. I did not create this story. Baurus did. Baurus created this story. Baurus. Baurus. Baurus. Baurus created this lovely little gem, not I. NOT I. However, neither of us own the original A Song Of Ice And Fire Source Material. Since I was rehashing a disclaimer, just thought I would throw that out there as well. Onward to the third point!

Thirdly, thank you for thanking me for crossposting this. Baurus uploaded this story on a thread format on another website and I only found it because someone was talking about it on another thread. So many people are missing this story so I just thought I would tease it a bit to give it more of a spotlight.

And Fourthly, have a good day my dudes. Or night. And if its morning, Top of the morning to ya.


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